


Overdose

by SnowAndRayne



Series: Pain Killers [4]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Disabilities, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Memory Alteration, Morally Ambiguous Characters, Protective!Rick, Rape Aftermath, Torture, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, domestic abuse, possessive!Rick, protective!Morty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22450387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowAndRayne/pseuds/SnowAndRayne
Summary: This is it.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Series: Pain Killers [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1344028
Comments: 96
Kudos: 237





	1. I Can't Be Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Everyone! Welcome to the final installment of Pain Killers.
> 
> This particular chapter was inspired by [this fantastic piece of fan art](https://www.wattpad.com/484198758-im%C3%A1genes-rickorty-rick-cest-rick-y-morty-rick-y) by Cinnister. Big CW for a graphic depiction of gore. (Definitely NSFW!)
> 
> This is the installment where the mystery will be finally wrapped up and hopefully our Morty and Rick will have their happily ever after.  
> Hopefully.
> 
> ### Snow's Note
> 
>  **Dead Dove, i.e. Please read the tags!** If you have read the story so far, you know this slash fiction contains the typical problematic tags. In addition, Overdose--which is probably the most NSFW in the series--contains _underage_ sex, a pretty graphic rape scene, and hints at mental illnesses and domestic abuse. At it's core, Pain Killers has been about two messed up addicts who end up addicted to each other. While there is violence, gore, rape, and pain ...there is also going to be love. 
> 
> \- Snow

_Some days I'm built of metal  
_ _I can't be broken_

—Chaos Chaos, "Do You Feel It?"

* * *

Before Rick can do anything, he pulls out one of his most rarely used devices and—quickly leaving the theatre—stops time.

It’s going to cost him. And he was already on bad terms with those overenthusiastic time cops.

He returns, stomach in knots, ready to inspect the damage.

Morty’s been shot. The Rick was aiming for the boy’s heart but missed as Morty fell. Unfortunately, he still shot him in the chest and without time being frozen, the wound would have been fatal in minutes.

But that is nothing.

Rick almost can’t look at what is left of Morty.

Either the portal closed too fast or the drone wasps did their job before Rick could get to him. Both of Morty’s arms and legs have been cut clean off at the elbows and knees. Stopping time has thankfully stopped the bleeding, but Morty is still in critical condition.

Rick turns away from the pathetic desecrated thing before him.

By now, there will be nothing left to reattach. The rest of Morty is out there in the void, burning away to nothing. Rick clenches his fists and feels himself begin to tremble. Knowing Morty is lying at death’s door is horrifying enough, but knowing that _cunt_ managed to mutilate him beforehand…

Rick opens his eyes and looks at the body once more.

Morty’s mouth hangs open too-wide and in an odd shape as though he is still silently screaming. There is blood on his lips, frozen in place where it dripped down his chin. Morty’s eyes—oh _god_ his eyes!—are unfocused and staring, one of them bloodshot, his expression fixed into one of absolute horror. 

  
  


Rick’s gut sinks.

That was the last emotion Morty ever felt.

  
  


All at once the levee within him finally breaks. Rick sinks to his knees and gathers his grandson’s tiny torso into his arms, pulling him close. He tries to reposition Morty into a normal half-sitting, half-lying position against his chest but Morty no longer feels like a human being, he feels more like a vaguely human-shaped sack stuffed with meat.

“Morty...” Rick whispers. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.”

He licks his lips and tastes ash-filled tears. Rick can’t remember when he started crying but now that the tears have come, they are a flood. His next breath comes in a grotesque sob and buries his nose in Morty’s badly singed hair.

“You… y-you were never supposed to get hurt, Morty. You were never...” Rick gulps, unable to continue speaking. He rocks the head and torso in his arms as though lulling the boy to sleep, cradling him close and humming quietly under his breath. Some madness keeps Rick here, gently rocking Morty and singing softly under his breath, as though he can somehow comfort Morty back together.

It isn’t _fair_ to think that someone so undeserving had to die in such a horrific way. It isn’t right that he was crucified, humiliated, and then cooked alive. Morty shouldn’t have had to die with…

Fresh tears drip anew and Rick can’t hold in the broken sound that falls from his throat.

...Morty didn’t deserve to die with Rick’s _back_ to him.

The universe lies still. And as far as Rick is concerned, it can stay like that. The world around them fixed between heartbeats while Rick stays in this place with the last remnants of Morty.

That’d be The End wouldn’t it? The Apocalypse. He always thought he’d have a hand in it.

Rick isn’t sure how long Morty will last ~~when~~ if he restarts time. Wiping away his tears Rick finally pulls himself together and lifts Morty—who is still inhumanly light—and carries him to the table. He smooths back the kid’s ash-ridden hair and places a loving kiss to his forehead.

“Not like this,” Rick whispers into Morty’s hairline. He pulls back, holding Morty’s face in one hand and angrily digging his fingers into the boy’s cheeks. “You go when _I say so,_ understand?” He looks down into the boy’s terrified unseeing eyes.

“When _I say so._ ”

  
  


_“You can’t cure death, Rick,”_ she had said that to him once, _“no one can.”_

  
  


But she was wrong.

  
  


* * *

Rick models Morty’s replacement limbs on his own bionic enhancements. The feet are a little larger than Morty’s original size, however, which means Morty will be a little wobbly on his feet until he can get used to them. But once he finds his balance, the kid will be one hell of a sprinter.

The metal skeleton Rick uses to replace Morty’s real one is unbreakable. He attaches the boy’s own organic nervous system to the electrical wiring with perfect precision, knowing that Morty’s reflexes—already impressive with the help of their relentless adventuring—will now be even faster.

“You are going to be exquisite,” Rick murmurs to his creation. A form of madness spurring him to replace and rebuild and redesign beyond what it necessary and into what can only described as _art._

The boy is strapped to the rotating mortician’s table with his arms and legs tied carefully in place. The position mirroring the way Rick found him after drunkenly torturing him. But this time he looks especially odd. Like a doll or a robot that isn’t yet complete. His skeletal arms and legs are stretched unnaturally wide while his still flesh-and-bone face and torso remain reassuringly human.

Though Rick's gut still clenches every time his gaze passes over Morty's face. He still wears that horrifying expression.

  
  


Rick picks up the scalpel.

  
  


Now comes the tricky part.

  
  


He can rebuild and reattach limbs but reaching into the kid’s chest to pull the shrapnel from vital organs is going to take an unrivaled level of precision. 

Carefully, with all the care and patience in the world, Rick gently draws a T across Morty’s naked chest. Spots of blood appear and then freeze like rubies as Rick cuts him before peeling apart the boy’s flesh, exposing a mostly intact still-human ribcage with one shattered quarter.

Rick reaches in carefully, pulling out the shrapnel, piecing together what he can with whatever technology he can access.

The boy’s heart doesn’t beat. It’s frozen along with the rest of existence, the sight much more unnerving than it should be. And Rick finds himself tentatively reaching for the organ of interest, sliding a hand beneath Morty’s ribs and holding it reverently in his open palm.

“You weren’t supposed to get hurt,” Rick says once again. “You were supposed to do everything I said. If you hadn’t run off… if you...”

Anger, pain, jealousy and the ache that never leaves Rick’s heart have left Rick raw. For the millionth time, Rick feels an indescribable urge to _hurt_ the fragile body in front of him. To mar him permanently and remind him just who is in charge here. Rick’s powerful. More powerful than any entity that ever existed. Even gods die, they have both seen that now, but not Rick. Rick will always exist and inevitably so will Morty. He controls Morty's existence and when the void reaches out to take him, Rick will always stand in the way.

Fondness clashes with cruelty as Rick’s fist clenches around Morty’s heart and—to Rick’s horror—the boy’s eyes suddenly flick open.

“R- _ick—_?” Morty whispers. His voice hoarse, as though he no longer knows how to use it.

“Morty…?”

Oh fuck, oh _fuck!_ This shouldn’t be possible!

Morty’s wide-eyed gaze darts quickly from side to side, up and down. Rick’s reminded of a cornered animal.

“Rick? I… I can’t see you. Everything—everything’s d-dark, Rick. Wh-what’s going on?”

All traces of anger evaporate in an instant and Rick watches Morty’s eyes fill with frightened tears.

“Shh...shh...it’s okay, Morty. You’re okay.”

“Did I misbehave?”

“What?”

“They put you on the wall or they put you in the dark.” Morty swallows. “I-If you misbehave.”

“No, no, Morty. No one’s… no one’s doing that to you.” Rick explains, confused. “You’re—you’re injured, remember? Don’t you remember, Morty?”

“It’s dark.”

For some reason, Morty is unable to see. But as Rick speaks to him, the more lucid and calm Morty becomes. So Rick keeps talking.

“I know,” Rick explains kindly. “You can’t see right now but it’s temporary. You’ll see me and your family again real soon. I just have to—to—to take… to take care of you first, kay buddy?”

“Okay Rick,” Morty says calmly. Rick’s gut clenches unpleasantly when Morty adds sadly. “I promise I’ll be good.”

Something about Morty’s tone makes Rick feel sick to his stomach. It’s as though Morty is desperately trying to protect himself. But from Rick? Surely the kid knows by now that Rick won’t let him die.

Hours pass.

All the people Rick’s killed… human and non-human entities alike which Rick vaporized in minutes. Yet here Rick is, carefully and thoughtfully bringing life back into a human. It is strange to think that these same hands could so easily rip a person apart.

“A-are you still with me, Morty?”

“Yes." Morty sounds tired. "I was being quiet.”

Rick is, admittedly, impressed. The boy is strung up, bleeding and broken and _blind_ and yet he remains eerily calm beneath Rick’s touch. Something warm caresses Rick's insides and he has to work hard to push it aside. 

_Don't think about it._

Rick looks carefully at the boy’s face.

“Does it hurt?” Rick says curiously, pulling more shrapnel from Morty’s chest.

“N-no, Rick,” Morty stammers. “It just tickles a bit.”

“So you know what I’m doing to you then?” Rick asks experimentally.

Morty frowns, his gaze glassy and far away.

“I think so. I think you’re experimenting on me.”

“P-partial credit, Morty,” Rick says blandly.

“Then no, I don’t know.” Morty then says softly. “I’m cold.”

“I know, it’s alright.”

“I’m so cold.”

“Morty?”

“Can I go back to sleep?” Morty asks.

Rick reaches out to cup Morty’s cheek. “Of course, Morty.”

“I’m scared to fall asleep, Rick.”

“Why’s that?” Rick plucks more shrapnel from inside of Morty. He carefully moves his gloved fingers around Morty’s heart once more and pulls some traces of it from Morty’s left ventricle.

Morty does not answer Rick’s question. He is silent once again and Rick looks down at Morty’s apparently sleeping face.

He may never know how it was possible for Morty to speak to him. And Morty himself may never remember. But in that moment, in the smothering silence of a motionless universe, for the first time, Rick feels that bare unique form of loneliness one can only experience after losing the comfort of companionship.

Leaning his forehead down to rest against Morty’s collarbone Rick sighs miserably.

Never in his life has he felt so powerless.


	2. No Illusions

_I have no illusions, I lost them on my travels._   
_Now I am ready to come home._

— Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, "Dangerous Liaisons"

* * *

**Jerry**

The fantasy world that had been gifted to Jerry during his stay in the holding facility was, in every sense of the word, _perfect._

Beth adored him, they made love every night.

Summer respected him and insisted he come to every single premiere even if the movies she starred in weren’t particularly good.

And Morty was everything he wanted his boy to be.

Rick was no longer in the picture. He’d stepped aside, finally, after Jerry had ousted him.

Jerry had finally fucking _won_.

  
  


...Which was exactly why Jerry knew it was false.

  
  


Jerry’s not smart. He knows that. But he’s no fool and—having experienced one simulation before—was able to recognise the signs. Common phrases here and there which he knew no human ever used, music on the radio that was just a little too calming, and a suspiciously familiar apple commercial.

  
  


Jerry sighs. Resigned. How _stupid_ did the Intergalactic Government think he was?

  
  


He wakes from the dream—seemingly weeks later—to a world too awful to be false. His whole body hurts to be back inside the dream.

It was like that last time too. Jerry forgot how easy it was to become addicted to lies.

His wife lies next to him, also waking from her dream. Her face pales when she looks around herself.

“Jerry!” She bursts out. “Wh-what happened?”

“We’re back,” Jerry states simply.

“Are you…? I mean, are you sure we’re really back?” Beth asks nervously. “How can you tell this isn’t a simulation? H-how can you tell what’s real and what isn’t?”

Jerry looks into those brilliant blue eyes and smiles, gently cupping his wife’s cheek.

“Believe me, Beth. I know.”

Beth’s lip quivers and she reaches out to hold Jerry’s face in both hands before they both hear the familiar sound of a throat being cleared. Both heads whip round to see Rick leaning casually against the door frame.

“Morning,” Rick says with a casual eye-roll. Flask at the ready, and a familiar arrogant smirk spread across his face.

Yeah, there's no way this is a simulation. 

“Dad!” Beth leaps to her feet.

“In the— _errp!_ —flesh.”

“You… you rescued us didn’t you?” Beth gapes. “You knew we were in trouble and… and you came to save us!”

Rick shrugs.

“Yeah sure, why not?”

“Oh _Dad!_ ”

Jerry watches numbly as Beth’s eyes fill with tears and she rushes over to her father, throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace. Rick holds her awkwardly, steeling awkward longing glances at the flask in his hand every few minutes.

“Rick.”

Jerry slowly rises to his feet and Rick gently pries Beth off him, a smile breaking out on his tired-looking face.

“Uh-oh, _Jerry!”_ Rick sneers. “No doubt there’s _something_ wrong with the way I rescued you isn’t there? What? You want me to have left you on the front porch instead of in your marital bed? And you’re fucking _welcome_ by the way, Jer!”

Jerry’s eyes narrow.

“Where is my son, Rick?”

“Who Morty? Still recovering.”

“Recovering. I... see...” Jerry looks away carefully. “Recovering like we were or…?”

“You ask a lot of questions, Jerry. N-not very charismatic.”

“Jerry!” Beth starts, rounding on him with tears still shining in her eyes. “Rick just saved all our lives. The _least_ you could do is be a little bit grateful!”

“Oh uh… n-not all of us are back yet, sweetie.” Rick looks remorseful. “I—I still haven’t managed to find Summer yet. Morty and I have been working on that.”

“So… you and Morty have been travelling together for a while then?” Jerry asks carefully.

“If you must know _Jerry,_ ” Rick groans, “Morty and I were together when the soldiers came to retrieve us. It was a— _bruuurrp_ —an a-ambush.”

“Oh my god, Dad that’s awful!”

“Eh. It happens.” Rick shrugs before giving his flask a pointed shake. "Hey sweetie is there any beer left in the fridge? I’m running a little empty here…” 

Beth says something cheery about getting a change of clothes since her current ones have been slept in for the past three months. Jerry, meanwhile, follows Rick downstairs to the kitchen and Jerry observes Rick help himself to a six pack.

The man looks the same as always: old, stern, pieced together haphazardly beneath his off-white lab coat, and always wearing that same unimpressed facial expression. Sometimes Jerry wonders how much of Rick is still human and how much is cold amoral machine.

 _Jeez…_ Jerry wonders as those ice-blue eyes narrow at him in suspicion. _Was Rick_ ever _human?_

“Jerry, what the hell? Wh-wh-why are you eyeballing me, man?”

“So you say you were with my son. Alone. When you were ambushed. What were the two of you doing?”

“Uh, not that it’s any of your business, _Jerry,_ but we were at the movies.”

“You wanted to go to the movies with my son on your birthday.” Jerry interprets carefully. “Alone.”

“Jeez, why do you keep… keep saying it like that?” Rick sighs. “Yes, _Jerry,_ we were _Alone!_ ” Rick mimics nastily. He drains a cola before opening another. “And thanks for remembering my birthday by the way.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jerry says coldly.

He departs, entering the walk-in wardrobe upstairs to see Beth fussing over some of her old clothing.

“You know, I never used to like this sweater!” Beth laughs, holding the garment up to herself. “But now I’m just so thrilled to be back I find myself loving it. Isn’t that weird?” Beth turns to look at Jerry and her face falls. “Jerry? Wh-what’s wrong?”

“Rick.”

“Oh don’t you—”

“He’s molesting our son, Beth. You know it. I know it. We need to talk about it.”

Beth throws the sweater on the bed and turns a murderous glare upon Jerry.

“I can’t _believe you,_ Jerry!” Beth cries. “He just saved all three of us and you—”

Beth begins to rant.

Jerry listens patiently until Beth’s temper finally burns out, leaving her panting and sighing with grief.

“Besides,” she says finally, “d-didn’t you say that you saw Morty’s hand on _his_ leg? D-doesn’t that imply that maybe Morty was the one initiating this? I mean… I’m just saying...”

Jerry’s jaw drops. “What?”

“I’m just saying,” Beth goes on, “if we… if we’re going by the _evidence..._ ”

Jerry stares at his wife in disbelief.

“You’re really going to make this argument aren’t you?” He says in a quiet voice. “You’re really going to _blame our son_ for...”

“I don’t know, Jerry! I—”

“No. No you _do_ know _,_ Beth!” Jerry interrupts. “You...” Jerry heaves a sigh and looks his wife in the eye. “Beth, you’re the smartest woman I’ve ever known. So don’t tell me you don’t know. Don’t pretend you don’t see what’s happening here. You… you’d really do it, wouldn’t you?” Jerry swallows. “You really would sacrifice Morty for Rick.”

In that moment, for the first time, Jerry finally sees his wife for who she really is. Of course, Beth is all the wonderful things Jerry believed her to be on the night they met. And growing together, Beth has only become smarter, stronger, and more beautiful.

But she is not kind. She is not just or fair or compassionate.

Not to Morty, not to Jerry, not even to herself.

She never even pretended to be.

  
  


Jerry will never not be in love with Beth. But there are some things more important than that.

  
  


“Beth, I’m leaving you.”

  
  


“ _What?_ ” Beth gapes. “B-because I don’t want to declare, with only _your_ words as evidence, that my father is a—”

“You don’t just have my words, Beth.” Jerry snaps. “And you’ve found _plenty_ of evidence! You just keep living in a fantasy world because the truth is too terrible. I don’t know why those Gromf-thingies bothered to hook you up to that machine because _obviously_ it was unnecessary!”

“Jerry...”

“I’m taking the kids and I’m leaving,” Jerry says with conviction. “As… as soon as Rick tracks down Summer,” he adds hastily, “but once that’s done, I’m taking the kids and we’re going far _far_ away from you two.”

Beth’s face is blank. Her beautiful eyes look empty and then suddenly fearful.

And Jerry gets it. After all, the one thing Beth is afraid of is being abandoned.

“He saved us,” she says in a quiet voice closer to that of a little girl than a grown woman.

Jerry nods.

“He’s a hero,” he agrees, “and he’s also a child-molester. They don’t cancel each other out, Beth. No matter how you try to spin it.”

* * *

Wherever this place is, Morty likes it.

He’s floating, carried high on waves of warm starlight, travelling somewhere…somewhere not so far away…he has seen people here—his parents, his sister, maybe other family members—and though Morty can’t explain it, he somehow knows that wherever he is going he will be welcome.

He has never known such love and comfort. And right now, in this moment, Morty feels ready to give himself to the stars and say goodbye to the world he left behind.

Stars…planets…moons…galaxies…warmth…his more concrete thoughts dim into a dreamy purposeless haze…

Morty is no longer a person, he is ascending to something bigger, wiser, less corporeal. He is everything and nothing. The beginning, the end, and the wonders in between. He’s the dawn in the darkness, he is starlight itself…

  
  


_**CRACK!** _

  
  


Solidity.

  
  


Morty is suddenly and uncomfortably _H_ _uman_ again.

  
  


And then, before Morty’s thoughts could properly process the discomfort, he is plummeting…plummeting…plummeting downwards. His head rushes, his stomach shoots into his mouth, he tries to scream but there is no air…

Suddenly Morty sees the universe sprawled out before him in all her beauty. He sees every face, old and young, male and female, long deceased and soon to be born… every building, every invention, every ship—both space and water—every animal, mountain, and every tree. They are rushing past his vision faster and faster as he zeroes in on one particular place...

  
  


Morty’s eyes flick open before he is fully awake and an onslaught of panic chases away all other senses.

  
  


His arms. His legs! Morty’s hands fly to his throat as he remembers a hot pressure inside his chest, the air becoming close and thick with heat. Flames licked his flesh and then his body was ripped away from him. And then another memory, perhaps even more grotesque: Morty’s veins were full of something ice-cold and artificial. He remembers Rick’s face, staring down at him, earnest and playful—the face Rick makes when a risky experiment worked better than expected.

Something cruel and unrelenting was reaching deep inside him…violating him…touching where no one should ever touch…seizing control…

Exploding veins…snapping tendons…his bones… his spine… his throat… the smell of burning flesh, the way something burst inside of him and then broke into a million sharp pieces, the metallic taste of blood in throat, in his mouth, burning his tongue and boiling…boiling… _ **boiling**_ _..._

Morty had eventually welcomed death because the pain _painPAIN_ was so overwhelming. But worse than the pain…the helplessness. The knowledge that his own body was _—_

  
  


Oh god. Morty shouldn’t be alive.

  
  


Yet here he is: yanked from whatever peaceful plain he was in before and jammed back into a broken half-formed body.

Morty feels tremors cascading all over him and as his trembling becomes more violent his thoughts dissolve into terror.

Rick took _everything_ from him. His memories, his dreams, and now his _body._

There may be nothing sexual here, but it’s rape all the same.

  
  


He needs air.

  
  


Morty doesn’t open the window before leaping through it.


	3. Look On Down From The Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: suicide ideation

“Look on down from the bridge  
It's still raining, up here  
Everybody seems so far away from me”

—Mazzy Star, _Look On Down From The Bridge_

* * *

  
  


“You vindictive asshole!” Beth sobs, “can’t—can’t you see that I’m trying to apologize?”

“And I’m sick of your apologies!”

“Jeez...” Rick breathes, leaning against the doorway. “You two haven’t been home a day and you’re already fighting.”

Jerry’s gaze snaps onto Rick. “Shut up, Rick!”

“Whoa!” Rick holds up his hands in mock-surrender. “Who died and made _you_ General?”

“I don’t care what either of you say,” Jerry says sternly, “I’m not letting _my_ kids stay here with you a minute longer.”

“What?!” Rick drops his cola can and stands and full height. The liquid seeps into the carpet and squelches beneath his feet.

“You heard me, Rick!” Jerry shouts.

“Jerry!” Beth cries. “You can’t—”

“Can’t _what,_ Beth? Can’t do the responsible thing and get them away from this animal?”

“Jerry, I’ve got no idea what YouTube commenter pissed you off this morning but if you keep coming at me you’re gonna find that weed whacker of yours in a seriously uncomfortable place if you know what I mean...”

“ _That_ is a threat.” Jerry turns to glare at Beth, “as if you didn’t need more proof that your father is out of control.”

“He protects us!”

“From the villains _he_ created, Beth!”

“I can’t believe this...” Beth buries her head in her hands and rubs at her creased forehead. “My father saved both our lives and _this_ is how you repay him?”

“You know what?” Jerry says angrily, “I’m done with this discussion. I don’t care if Morty’s awake, I’m taking him and we’re leaving.”

As Jerry turns towards the staircase, Rick—moving inhumanly fast—is suddenly standing before him, one arm extending to block his path.

Beth’s hands rush to her mouth as she stifles a gasp. In that moment, more than any other, the height difference between the two men is obvious. Rick dwarfs Jerry with an eerily long shadow, his eyes narrowed with contempt. Meanwhile, Jerry is glaring up at him, his frown deepening with dislike as the ugly silence stretches on.

“Move aside Rick.”

Rick’s mouth cracks into a hideous smile. “I really hope you’re stupid enough to do it when I say: _‘make me.’_ ”

“Rick, you do realize you just put yourself in between a father and son? I don’t think I’m the stupid one anymore.”

“I care about family values about as much as I care about the philosophy of plankton, _Jerry._ ”

Before Jerry can open his mouth he hears a slam. Beth has disappeared into the kitchen and in her haste slammed the cupboard door shut. He can see her from here, wine glass in trembling hand as she desperately spills a bottle of red onto her shirt, the floor, and the counter top.

The distraction has caused the tension of the moment to ease, if only slightly.

“I think you and I need to have a talk, Rick.”

Rick’s arm drops to his side.

“If it keeps you away from Morty,” Rick says quietly, “I agree.”

* * *

The garage door shuts behind them with an ominous click and Rick leans against it, folding his arms and glaring at the small silly man standing with his back to him in the middle of Rick’s workshop.

When Jerry hasn’t said anything for several minutes, Rick finally approaches.

“Hey man,” Rick says casually, “if you—if you wanna do this then—”

Rick supposes he should have expected the punch, but it is still a shock to come from Jerry of all people. The blow knocks him back, sprawling him on the hard dirty floor of the garage, bruising him painfully. Rick instantly jerks into a sitting position, swearing under his breath. His jaw and lower lip feel hot to the touch, and he tastes blood where he bit his tongue.

“Oh kay...” Rick says slowly, his voice a low warning. “That’s your _one._ ”

Jerry doesn’t look at Rick. Not at first. He’s glancing at the different devices spread around the bench tops. Weapons, robots, contraptions, a vial of mutated Anthrax, a certain helmet with plugs sticking out of it… Jerry’s milky gaze passes over each one, he doesn’t have the intelligence to even be curious about the various otherworldly gadgets. Eventually, Jerry reaches over and picks up a pen, which he gently fiddles with between his thumb and forefinger.

His gaze sharpens when he turns to Rick.

“You engaged in an incestuous sexual relationship with my underage son.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact.

“He was seventeen,” Rick says blandly.

“You son-of-a—” Jerry purses his lips, stopping himself before shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you are actually attempting to _justify_ this.”

“In many places seventeen is more than old enough to consent. And I’m talking about some faraway planet, _Jerry_ , I’m talking about here. On earth.”

But Jerry is vigorously shaking his head.

“Don’t.. you don’t get it do you?” Jerry cries out, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Rick, Morty isn’t like other kids his age.”

“Yeah,” Rick rolls his eyes, “he doesn’t make me wanna kill myself.”

Jerry lets out an expressionless laugh. “That’s it isn’t it? That’s all you care about. Yourself.”

Jerry turns away and runs a hand through his hair.

“Rick,” Jerry’s voice softens to something miserable, “Morty is intellectually handicapped. He can’t—” Jerry looks to be swallowing back tears as his gaze lowers to the floor, and his anger visibly dissolves into something Rick does not recognise as Jerry says in a quiet cracked voice: “Don’t you see that Morty can’t understand what you’re doing to him?”

The world goes cold and Rick is suddenly uncomfortably aware of his own heartbeat. Something hideous and unfamiliar crawls into Rick’s throat. Rick shudders and chokes it back down.

“He’s— c’mon Jerry he’s not that bad.”

“Yeah, yeah he is Rick. Look, it’s bad enough that you’ve been doing this to my boy but my son has no idea that this is wrong. I don’t even think Morty understands the concept of consent. You’re… _god_ you’re sick.” Jerry glares. “This needs to stop.”

“Morty understands. He knows… he...”

But in the coldness and stillness the ugly reality has manifested like a stain on a white surface.

Could Jerry be… right?

The kid is _seriously_ messed up in more ways than one. When Rick thinks back to that first kiss back at the penthouse… Morty kissed him back without a breath of hesitation, like in a romance flick or even a porno. And it was only when Rick attempted to take it further that Morty displayed signs of distress.

Jerry continues. “When Morty was five, we had his IQ tested…”

“And…?” Rick asks tersely.

“You might find it hard to believe, but at the time we thought he was a genius. His IQ was off the charts. But there was a problem: Morty is—or _was—_ an excellent test-taker. He likes them for some reason. But whenever he had to do any classroom schoolwork, his notebooks were a mess. He couldn’t even seem to write inside the lines.

“At age five, he kept forgetting the name of his teacher. At age ten, he still struggled with basic arithmetic. And by the time he was thirteen,” Jerry’s voice cracks again, “in all his years of schooling Morty still hadn’t made a single friend.”

Jerry looks down at the pen he holds between his fingers.

“We brought him to a couple of specialists but they couldn’t explain it. They thought Morty might be learning-disabled but couldn’t explain how exactly. ADD was on the table for a while...”

“Not too surprising,” Rick says with an eye-roll, “like most academics, specialists are prone to stupidity outside of their realm of interest.”

Jerry actually smiles, if only weakly.

“It didn’t help that for about a year, Morty pretty much forgot how to talk.”

Rick looks up with a stab of sudden intrigue.

“Wh-what?”

“I said, for about a year, Morty pretty much forgot how to talk.”

“Like, he didn’t talk _at all_ or…?”

“Oh you know how he gets, Rick!” Jerry’s tone is laced with a hint of frustration. “He… he just kind of _stops_ now and then. You’re a genius, Rick, surely you’ve heard of selective mutism.”

“Yeah, yeah, _Jerry,_ I’ve—I’ve heard of it I just…”

Rick swallows.

_I’ve just never seen it._

Morty had never shown any issue with talking to Rick. He spoke all the time, it frequently took a concentrated effort to get the kid to shut up.

“Could you—could—could you tell me when Morty first learned to talk?” Rick asks curiously.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jerry asks sceptically.

“J-just humour me,” Rick replies.

“Late.” Jerry frowns. “I think he was almost four...”

“You don’t _know?_ ” Rick glares.

“What the Hell does it even matter, Rick? Why do you even care? You weren’t even in his life until he was thirteen! And now you’re some kind of kiddy-diddler.”

But Rick’s not listening, there’s a high pitched sound in his ears that’s persistently growing in volume. Morty is disabled, Morty can’t communicate…

He can’t communicate…

He can’t communicate…

  
  


It’s a puzzle piece that Rick knows is important but can’t work out why.

His brow creases in frustration.

  
  


“...the point, Rick,” Jerry continues, “is that Morty does not have the capacity to consent to any kind of s—” Jerry looks as though he is choking down nausea “— _sexual_ activity. With anyone. And the fact that you’re his _grandfather._ ” Jerry turns a glare upon Rick and Rick bristles. “It’s _sick,_ Rick. You are seriously fucking sick. H-How could you—”

But Rick can’t hear Jerry anymore. He can only hear his own inner-tormenter booming inside his own head:

_(How could do this?)_

_(How could you let yourself touch him?)_

_(How could you hurt him like this? When he can’t communicate...)_

  
  


Jerry’s accusatory stare shouldn’t sting as much as it does. Along with it, Rick remembers with bile in his throat the morning he woke to find Morty strapped to the mortician’s slab with angry bleeding wheals all over him. Morty crying shamefully while he relived that night at Rick’s behest. Morty lying in bed next to him, stretching up in order to kiss him. Morty on his knees gazing up at Rick with worship in his eyes and come dribbling down his chin. Morty in the bathhouse, flinching away when Rick reached out for him, not remotely aroused. Morty silent as Rick inspected the boy’s scarred asshole—the obvious evidence of rape.

And in that moment, Rick finally feels something that had once been warm inside of him suddenly turn cold and then shatter like glass.

_(You want him…)_ Rick’s cruel bicameral mind whispers _(But more than that, you want him to want you back.)_

The scientist in Rick cannot deny the truth in the statement and for once, Rick agrees with the voice in the back of his head.

_Yes._

_(You want him to love you just like you love him)_

_Yes._

_(But he can’t)_

_No one ever could,_ Rick acknowledges miserably.

Because it is pain: an all-consuming fire that decimates all in its path. That is the love Rick endures, and has perhaps always endured, and Rick knows such a burden it would destroy anyone who wasn’t him.

_(Would you really want to inflict something like that upon Morty?)_

  
  


“Rick!”

  
  


Rick’s head, which he did not realize he had bowed, jerks up to find Jerry staring at him with a measured mix of hatred and fear.

“What?” Rick snaps.

“I said, what do you plan to do? Now that you know I know.”

Rick shrugs casually.

“Nothing, I suppose,” he answers, “I mean… f-face it, _Jerry,_ if you call the authorities or try to come between me and Morty, there’s gonna be a hell of a mess to clean up. You could alert the Safe Universe Movement or the Government, but I'll remind you that I’ve got a healthy habit of disappearing whenever someone knocks on my door and if they decide to take you—to take you hostage again you can guarantee I’m not coming after you again, which _I_ can guarantee _they_ aren’t gonna like.”

“I wish you’d never come into our lives, Rick.”

“You wish _I'd_ never come into _your_ life?" Rick snaps back. "Y-You think I _wanted_ this? You think I begged the universe to send some idiot to shoot his worthless unemployed load into my daughter? You think I wanted someone like _you_ fathering my grandkids? Those kids are _Sanchezes_ , Jerry. They deserve better than you and your white, unspecial, _Toyota Corolla_ of a surname."

Jerry’s glare morphs into something inhuman and Rick smirks with excitement as the man lowers his stance as if readying himself to spring.

“Ooh! Are you gonna rush me, Jer?” Rick goads. “Go ahead, it’ll be funny!”

Suddenly the garage door bursts open and Beth shoots between them. A small part of Rick is hurt that she is standing in front of Jerry but he quickly shoves the emotion aside when he sees the white fear-stricken look on her face.

“What’s happened to him?” Rick asks immediately, forgetting Jerry entirely.

“He’s gone,” Beth says, her voice trembling. And as if it needed any elaboration, she whispers, “Morty’s gone.”

* * *

All-too vividly, Morty remembers what it was like to be at peace: light, purposeless, and _wanted._

But here he stands. A heavy blasphemous thing, yanked down from whatever plain of existence that was and stuffed inside a broken abomination of a body. It’s an overcast day but to Morty, he may as well be staring directly into the sun. He staggers aimlessly. His feet feel too big. Simply having one foot following another feels like an accomplishment. The pavement feels unreasonably hard beneath his feet. He jumps when a car blasts its horn at him as he weaves too close to the curb.

Why is everything in this awful place so bright and loud?

His whole body _hurts_ to be back amongst the stars.

But the worst part of all is the sensation within his inorganic limbs. Nerves—oh _god_ , are they nerves or something else?—have been expertly woven around his metal bones. Morty can feel them creaking with every step, his cold inhumanity demanding to be felt and acknowledged with every painful step.

  
  


What is left of Morty now? Rick took his childhood, his life, and now his _death._

  
  


Morty wipes his eyes on his sleeve and glances down at his wrist.

There are no scars there now. Not even old ones from before.

  
  


Morty feels a blow of something horrifying and his hands suddenly shoots to his crotch without thinking.

Morty’s head reels at the thought of Rick actually looking at him down there and some inner part of him leaves his body for a moment as Morty stumbles sideways, awkwardly throwing himself against the railing.

Morty blinks.

_Railing?_

He doesn’t remember walking this far. He’s somehow made it all the way to the overpass and he’s standing on the bridge looking down at the traffic racing beneath him. When Morty stares hard enough, his eyes begin to water, and the traffic turns into a rushing blur of colour.

Their headlights remind him of starlight.

Morty retches twice and then vomits over the side.

  
  


“Morty!”

It’s a familiar voice. Pleasant, though unwanted.

Morty isn’t _Morty_ anymore. He isn’t sure who or what he is.

“Morty!” the voice repeats but Morty still doesn’t look up. He’s going to ralph again in a minute. “Oh my god, _Morty!_ Are… are you okay?”

Morty swallows down a mouthful of stomach bile.

“J-Jessica?!” his voice comes out in disbelieving slur. “Wh-what the Hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” she says, a pretty white hand reaches up to touch her lips. “Morty, no one’s seen you in _months!_ Where have you been?!”

“Away.” Morty looks up at sky and grimaces. No stars up there. Just grey clouds bloated with rain. “R-Really far away, Jessica.”

“You’ve been with your grandpa, huh?” she asks, her voice low.

“Gee, how’d you figure that one out?”

“Sheesh, Morty, if you’re going to be like that, I’ll leave. Screw me for showing some concern for an old friend!” Jessica glares, hurt.

Morty blinks as something slides into focus.

“Friend?” he frowns. “We… were we _friends?_ ”

“Well,” Jessica pauses, “wh-what else would you call us?”

“I...”

But Morty is suddenly interrupted by rude a shove to his shoulder. Morty groans as his head throbs painfully and he blinks through his blurred vision to see none other than Scott Turner and Craig Robson standing before him, both with their shoulders slouched and their faces twisted into wide _fake_ smiles. A third guy is with him, tall and oddly familiar, though Morty can’t place exactly where.

“Hey, _Smith,_ ” Craig sneers and Morty’s spine stiffens. “Good to see ya again!”

“Yeah,” Morty says emotionlessly, “feeling’s mutual.”

Craig, Scott, and their friend all look at one another and snigger. Jessica watches them, a guarded but suspicious expression on her otherwise lovely face.

_Of course,_ Morty acknowledges, _she doesn’t know._

He hid his business well and he didn’t need his _“friend”_ finding out about it and judging him.

“How’s _business?_ ” Craig asks in a high mock-innocent voice. “Things trucking along as usual?”

Morty glares at Craig fiercely for a moment before turning his attention back to the traffic below.

“Y-You got some sort of point, Craig?” Morty says crossly. “O-Or do you just wanna talk about how much you and your boyfriend _missed me?_ ”

All three boys visibly bristle and Morty smirks. _Thought so._

“Fuckin’ fag!” one of them spits and Morty’s smirk turns into a grin.

“Undeniable,” Morty smiles, “and _unforgettable,_ baby _._ ”

“You’re a real piece of shit, Smith,” the newcomer snarls, “y-you make me fucking sick!”

“Wh-wh-who even are you, bro?” Morty says mildly.

“Who am I?” the newcomer draws himself to his full height and Morty watches with interest as the tall boy cracks his knuckles and puffs out his chest. “My name is Chance. Chance _Dunford._ And _you_ , you sick fuck, you killed my little brother!”

“Ohhh!” Morty laughs and slaps the heel of his hand to his forehead. “My bad. I-I-I see the rapey resemblance now.”

“I’m gonna fucking _kill_ you!”

“Hey!” Jessica suddenly shouts and puts herself between Chance and Morty. “Back off!” She waves a furious pointed finger in Chance’s face. “I know Morty and he didn’t kill anyone!”

Chance says nothing and simply grabs Jessica’s dainty wrist in his thick hand and hauls it upwards, throwing her off-balance. Chance glares daggers at Morty as Jessica yelps in pain. Morty is unable to move. He stands shocked at the sight of Jessica being dangled limply in the man’s large paw.

“You’re gonna _pay,_ whore!” Chance spits and Morty’s face contorts into an ugly scowl as the reality of what is happening suddenly slams home.

Everything slows down and Morty’s gaze fixes on Chance.

“You _really_ should have stopped at ‘fag.’”

Before any of them can blink, Morty has sprung.

From a standing leap, Morty aims his knee into Chance’s jaw before spinning around and jabbing his elbow sharply into the soft spot where Chance’s skull meets his neck. Chance lets out a beast-like squeal and he drops Jessica immediately, falling to his knees and clutching his mouth. Thick drops of blood spill through his fingers.

Morty watches him placidly. Chance must have bitten his tongue when Morty kicked him.

He turns just in time to see Scott aiming a punch and Morty dodges, his hand shooting out to seize Scott’s wrist and thrust it forward, throwing Scott’s momentum off-balance and sending him tumbling to the ground. Scott lands on his face and scrambles to turn around, his hand pressed against his nose, the pavement smeared with red.

“Wh-what even _are_ you?” he stammers.

“What’s wrong?” Morty bends down and lifts Scott’s face by a fistful of his hair. “I-Is that why you and your friends liked me so much, Scott? You get your rocks off by wailing on people who won’t fight back?”

“Sick fuck, you killed Mike!” Scott spits.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Morty shoves Scott away from him in disgust and turns to look at Jessica. Craig, meanwhile, is disappearing into the distance—running full-pelt away from the scene. Morty chooses to ignore him.

“You okay?” Morty asks.

“Yeah...” Jessica breathes. “You?”

“I can honestly say I’ve been better,” Morty says flatly. “W-would you like me to walk you home?”

“Oh.” Jessica looks suddenly shy, “Um...”

“Y’know, in case these clowns give you any more hassle,” Morty elaborates.

There’s a groan from the ground and Morty knows the point is pretty moot. Chance and Scott aren’t going to be chancing after either of them any time soon. But offering still seems the gentlemanly thing to do.

Jessica smiles appreciatively. “Y-Yeah,” she breathes, brushing her red hair behind her ear. “Th-thanks!”

The two set off in silence. Morty barely looks at Jessica, he’s got too many things to think about. He has to admit that he took down those guys with a lot less effort than he thought he would. It was easy. But in its ease it was almost awful. More like an extermination than an outright fight.

_Is any part of me still human?_ Morty wonders. And then another, crueler voice softly whispers in the back of Morty’s mind:

_(Silly boy, you’ve been fighting like that for years…)_

Morty lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

_(The real question is, were you ever human in the first place?)_

“Morty?”

Morty shakes himself away from his lamentations to look at Jessica.

“What is it?”

“Thank you,” Jessica says quietly. “You… those guys—”

“It’s no problem,” Morty shrugs. “Happy to—” Morty fails to stifle a giggle, “h-happy to help a damsel in distress.”

_Wow, what dumb thing to say! Good thing I never had a chance with her in the first place._

Jessica smiles fondly.

“Thanks for walking me home, my place is up here.”

“Wait a second,” Morty says with a laugh, “I know this street. I gate-crashed a party at Brad’s house here once.”

“Uh… y-yeah.”

“Wait a minute,” Morty smiles, “a-are you two living together?”

“Um, yeah, yeah we are...” Jessica says guiltily. “W-we got back together at the beginning of the year and he let me live with him since I’m planning to go to Herpson Community College in the fall. Brad’s really very sweet once you get to know him.”

“H-hey,” Morty grins, “n-no need to explain things to me, Jessica. You and Brad make a really great couple.”

“I… w-we do?”

“Yeah, I’m genuinely happy for you, Jessica.”

And to Morty’s genuine surprise, he means it.

Jessica’s face lights up with a smile.

“Morty,” she laughs, “when did you get so wonderful?”

Morty shrugs. “I found out how big the universe is.”

“Morty I… I never—”

But Morty interrupts as they approach the front porch.

“I’ll see you round, Jessica,” Morty lies and turns to walk away. He hears the jingle of house keys and turns around. “Oh! A-And Jessica?”

“Yes, Morty?” Jessica says hopefully.

“I hope you have a really great time at college,” Morty nods.

Jessica gives Morty a regretful smile and nods back at him.

“I will.”

Morty knows he’s played his part well. He proved himself to be a man in Jessica’s eyes and the knowledge resonates within him, reassuring him of a loose-end finally tied. As the door closes behind him he walks away from the house in the direction of home.

“Smith!”

Morty tries not to flinch.

“You little shit, Smith!”

Morty turns and is just in time to see Craig Thompson sprinting at him. The obvious glint of a knife brandished at his side.

Morty doesn’t think about it. As though instinct alone has taken over, Morty’s arm is suddenly raised and aimed. The tanned skin pulls away and instead of anything flesh-and-blood, an glittering silver hand is aimed at Craig. Something hot swells in Morty’s metal palm and within a moment a blue particle beam has shot forth and disintegrated Craig where he stood.

Ash covers the pavement and the scent of burnt flesh fills Morty’s nostrils.

Morty reels.

The smell triggers a feeling and the feeling threads into a memory.

Morty’s heart throbs and he falls to his knees. His skin prickles painfully, erupting in goosebumps, but instead of fire there is only cool rain.

  
  


He considers, for a moment, walking back to the bridge with one intention.

But would it work? If Morty threw himself into the roaring traffic below, would it kill him?

Morty rolls back his sleeve to inspect the monstrous appendage. Examining the silver skeletal structure and experimentally tapping it with his fingernails.

No, somehow Morty knows falling from a great height will not kill him. And even if it did, Rick would simply find him with that goddamned tracking device and then stitch him back together. And what would Morty become then? How many parts would Rick replace with his own _superior_ inventions?

Morty’s skull?

His spine?

His heart?

Tears fall steadily as Morty staggers back to the Smith residence. Rick stole his right to die, bringing him back into this world a suffering abomination. Something inhuman and foul. Something that shouldn’t exist.

Exhausted, Morty finally collapses onto the risen soil, his own rotting corpse somewhere in the earth beneath him. Morty has never envied his other self so badly. He weeps quietly as he digs his fingernails into the soft cold dirt, the clouds above finally burst and drench him with rain.

This is where he belongs.

_I wonder if I rust,_ Morty thinks bitterly.

Morty closes his eyes and his mouth fills with mud. At some point, Morty must have lost consciousness because he suddenly finds himself waking from his stupor as squelching determined footsteps approach from the house.

Rick’s sick of his shit and has come to get him. He feels strong arms wrapping around him and then lifting him into a bridal carry. Morty looks mournfully up at his grandfather only blink away his numbness in surprise.

Rick’s not holding him at all.

It’s Jerry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the spirit of Rick and Morty and philosophy, I'm curious about what you guys think.
> 
> What makes a cyborg? 
> 
> If an amputee gets a replacement robotic limb, is he a cyborg?
> 
> What about a double-amputee?
> 
> What about Morty, who now a quadruple-amputee with a replacement heart and ribs? 
> 
> Some people believe that we gave up our humanity when we entered the age of the smart phone and that that alone makes us cyborgs or at least cyborg-esque.
> 
> So... what do you think? What makes a human, human?


	4. Talk

“Talk, talk, talk: the utter and heartbreaking stupidity of words.”

—William Faulkner

* * *

“You were supposed to be watching him!”

“He was unconscious _Jerry!_ How the hell could I have known he’d run off? Besides, if you wanted him watched why didn’t _you_ do it instead of starting another argument with my father?”

“I cannot _believe_ you are blaming this on me.”

“I can’t believe you’re blaming this on Rick!”

“Oh I can assure you, Beth. I am not blaming anything on _him_ right now.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?!”

Rick has faded into the background Jerry continues the long overdue sparring match with his wife. The back and forth goes on for what feels like hours.

“Enough!” Rick yells. “Sheeshus! Will you two knock it off and get a divorce already? Morty’s not going to be any less lost while you two scream at each other.”

“Rick’s right,” Beth says determinedly, shooting Jerry a dirty look as though Morty’s disappearance were somehow his fault. “We should split up and search for him.”

“Okay,” Jerry replies sharply. “I’ll head out to… where does Morty hang out usually?”

“The arcade,” Rick replies and is immediately met with a pair of shocked faces. “What?” Rick shrugs. “’Scuse _me_ for paying attention to the kid.”

“Implying _I_ don’t?” Jerry shoots back angrily.

“Jerry _stop!_ ” Beth groans, burying her head in her hands. “Look, you head to the arcade and—”

“No way, Beth. _You_ head to the arcade. I’m keeping a close eye on _Rick,_ here.”

“Jerry!” Beth cries, exasperated. “We don’t have _time_ for this.”

“She’s right,” Rick nods. “Jerry, I know you’re pissed at me. But we’re gonna have to move past this for the time being. Not matter what you _think,_ you _know_ I don’t want him to get killed.”

“Fine,” Jerry says, folding his arms.

Beth sighs. “You two stay here, _I’ll_ go to the arcade. Is it the one near Old Town?”

“That’s the one,” Rick replies.

“Okay, I’ll take the car. If Morty comes back—”

“N-No need for that,” Rick states blandly, leaning casually against the kitchen bench. “He’s right outside.”

All eyes are suddenly drawn to the kitchen window. Beth lets out a small gasp and Jerry’s jaw drops as they all see a tell-tale figure in a yellow shirt lying face-down in the dirt.

* * *

Part of Morty has left his body. He blinks up at his father. The man seems taller than he remembers, stronger, more sturdy... Maybe he's nothing more than a hallucination and Morty is still outside, lost in the rain. 

But then Morty is assaulted by the harsh artificial light of the kitchen and Jerry holds him a little tighter. He didn't even realize it had been growing dark outside.

Before he can adjust to the cruel glare, his father has already brought him upstairs and switched on the bathroom light. Morty grimaces, his eyes burning.

“You’re okay, Morty.”

Why does his father sound like he's underwater?

Morty is numb with cold, his wet clothes stick to his skin. He shivers and wishes the light were dimmer and the hiss of the shower, quieter. Then his clothes getting removed and Morty can’t swallow down the panic. He fights. Briefly. But his father is firm, if kind, and eventually Morty lets him do what he has to. He’s nudged into a hot shower. The warm water pleasant and comforting. And then he can't remember anything.

In the space of a slow blink, Morty is out of the shower, toweled dry, and his father is carefully buttoning up his maroon pajamas. He feels like some invalid or a small child. He can’t remember the last time someone took the time to put him back together like this. He smiles appreciatively but falters when he doesn’t receive a smile in return.

This all feels so familiar…

“Can you walk?” Jerry asks.

Morty looks at the floor and nods.

He isn’t the boy his father looked after as a child. Hell, he’s not even this Jerry’s son. He’s a copy. An impostor.

If Jerry understood that, would those gentle hands turn cruel and push him away? Would he see Morty as nothing more than an extension of Rick?

Jerry guides him to his room with a hand on his shoulder and Morty sits down on the edge of his bed. He stares into space. The room seems muted and far away yet at the same time Jerry's footsteps are too loud and the sound of rustling fabric is thunderous. 

_Not supposed to be here…_ Morty’s thoughts don’t seem to be forming words properly. _I... to disappear… be starlight again. It was... so much easier…_

“Son?”

Morty’s head snaps up at the word.

Jerry is looking at him with a concerned, scrutinizing look. 

_I am NOT your son!_ Morty wants to shout but instead bites his tongue.

“Do you—do you want to talk to me about what happened?”

 _What happened?_ Morty's thoughts process everything in a rush, as though fast-forwarding an old video tape. 

Crucified and cooked within a dying god, then finally having his soul at rest, only to be irreverently stuffed back into a half-formed body... How could Jerry understand? How could anyone? Morty looks down at his artificial hand that is now wrapped in too-realistic skin. Rick kept every detail of his original hand. _S_ _ans the scars_ , Morty notices, bitterly.

Clearly, Rick gets to decide how human Morty is from now on.

Morty must have zoned out for a moment because when his thoughts slide into the present, he realizes Jerry has been talking for some time.

“—and that’s okay,” Jerry finishes. “Do you want me to go?”

Morty nods.

He continues staring at his perfectly smooth wrist until he hears the bedroom door click shut. With that, Morty curls up on his bed, tucking his knees up into his chest and holding his fists by his face. 

He doesn't have the energy to cry.

* * *

Days pass before Rick sees Morty again. Beth is at work, Jerry is… _somewhere_. And Rick is finally alone in the house with Morty. 

He walks gingerly into the boy's bedroom to find him wide awake and lying on his side. Still wearing the same pajamas that Jerry dressed him in. Rick looks at them reproachfully. He would have dressed Morty in his yellow ones.

“Hey,” Rick says softly.

There is no reply.

There are way too many variables right now. Technically speaking, Morty was as good as dead for almost three days. Whatever Morty experienced in that state has left him in a state of catatonic shock. 

Thoughts of Hell Dimensions and torture flit through Rick’s mind and he waves them off as quickly as they come. He knows better than to believe in that nonsense.

He sits down on the bed next to his grandson, half- ~~expect~~ ~~ing~~ hoping Morty will sit up and tell him to piss off, but instead Morty lies motionless.

Rick awkwardly clears his throat.

Morty doesn't stir. The boy is clearly conscious though his eyes are glassy and far away, as though someone sucked out his soul. The sight of him feels wrong. Of course, Rick's seen Morty depressed before but this eerie catatonia is something else...

Rick reaches out a tentative hand to touch him but immediately withdraws as the bedroom door creaks open. Rick turns sharply to see a furious Jerry looking down at them both.

“You…” Jerry begins.

And this is it. Rick’s going to kill him. Morty won’t stop him this time and Beth isn’t even here. Fucking _finally._ Rick rises to his feet and then stops when he notices a single tear drip down Jerry’s cheek.

“You,” Jerry begins again, voice cracking, “are going to _fix_ this.”

* * *

It was worryingly easy to get Morty to come with him to the storage locker.

He followed Rick with his head down, like a dumb farm animal being led to an abattoir, never displaying even a hint of reluctance or resistance. The only time Rick thinks he caught a glimpse of any life from the boy was when he looked up at the stars as they left the ship, his face strangely forlorn, as if missing something precious...

But once inside the storage locker, Morty is doll-like once again. He follows Rick inside, strips down to his boxers when instructed, and sits himself down on the mortician’s slab like its as routine as brushing his teeth.

 _Jeez,_ Rick thinks with concern. _If I’d wanted him to be this robotic, I’d have replaced his brain as well._

To Rick’s mild relief, Morty’s pain test is a positive one. He’ll feel like a normal person again in no time.

He smiles proudly. It’s not too much of a surprise, really. After all, he didn’t exactly cheap out on the parts. Those electrical currents are a lot faster-acting than Morty’s natural neural pathways, meaning faster reflexes and safer reaction times. There will be times Morty won't even have to experience the pain at all! At least not consciously. Rick spared no expense.

“I’ll check your legs in a second. Any stiffness? You good?” Rick asks mildly.

Morty doesn't respond. He’s looking down and to the left, avoiding Rick’s gaze.

Rick feels his features harden in frustration. Morty shouldn’t be acting like this. The kid hasn’t said a word in days and for goodness' sake, can't he see that Rick is fucking _trying?_ Why should Rick even bother trying to keep the boy comfortable if his efforts are going to go ignored and unappreciated? Why would he bother to try and "fix" the kid when Morty just wants to sit around and be miserable?

_"He can’t communicate."_

  
  


“Morty, a-are you—uhh— _cukh!_ " Rick coughs awkwardly before trying again. "Are you, y'know, feeling alright?” Rick asks.

The question is met with silence.

“A-are you feeling alright?” Rick repeats but Morty’s gaze is fixed to the floor, his head bowed, blocking any good look Rick could get at his face.

Rick fidgets with unease.

Even though Morty's face remains unreadable and no words come forward, Morty’s body language is practically screaming. His shoulders are raised stiffly against his neck and his whole body is wound tight—practically trembling with tension.

Rick turns away and busies himself with medical equipment. 

When Rick approaches him again, this time with a stethoscope, Morty's whole body jolts. Rick bites his lip in irritation. The way the boy's acting almost suggests that he's _afraid_ of Rick.

Throughout the rest of Rick’s examination, Morty seems to have to manually will himself to stay put. He grips the edge of the table with both fists, his jaw clenched, as if it is taking every ounce of his will not to bolt.

But they both make it through and by the end, Rick is satisfied that Morty is at least _physically_ on the mend.

“Now,” he turns as Morty pulls his T-shirt back on, followed by a maroon sweater. Rick forces a grin to spread widely on his face as he approaches Morty excitedly. “Wh-what would you like to do, Morty? I’ll let you pick your own adventure. W-we’ll do anything you like."

There's a nervous ringing in Rick's ears. As though the air around him is vibrating. Rick's hands land on Morty's shoulders and he grips him a little more tightly than he probably should.

"Movies! Blips and Chitz! Skiing! We could go on a... on a Ghostbusters adventure. Rem-remember-'member _Ghostbusters,_ Morty?”

The silence is deafening. Rick smiles wider. Morty winces.

“Anything you like. Anything at all! The universe is your oyster, Morty!”

Nothing.

“Morty?”

Almost too subtle to catch, Morty’s eyes dart to the door and then back to the floor again.

Rick’s heart sinks.

“Y-Y-You wanna go back to the ship?” Rick asks tentatively.

Morty nods.

“Alright, l-let’s..." Rick stammers, "we'll go,” he says soberly. 

Rick can’t ignore the weight in his chest as he locks the door to the storage locker. They get into the ship and Rick drives them back to earth very slowly, half hoping that Morty will suddenly pipe up with an adventure suggestion or start waving his little stamp-filled Morty-card in Rick’s face demanding to pick something at the last minute.

But there’s nothing.

And each time Rick glances at him, Morty is either staring into his own lap where his hands are clasped or he is looking longingly outside as stars stream past the window. The kid’s white-faced reflection lost and miserable in the darkness. It is the only time Rick can get a good look of the boy's face.

They land with a bump on the cracked driveway and Morty hastily clambers out of the vehicle. Rick notes worriedly that there is no click of a seat belt being unbuckled.

He resists the urge to call out after him. Watching the way Morty stumbles and almost trips as he moves too fast for his new bionic legs to carry him.

 _It’s okay, he’ll get used to it._ Rick promises himself as he watches Morty grip the doorframe a little longer than Rick thought he should before disappearing inside the house.

When Rick makes it upstairs after him, he stops momentarily at Morty’s door, debating whether to burst in and confront him or to do the boy the uncharacteristic courtesy of knocking first.

He decides against knocking. It’d feel too different. Like something is wrong. He grabs the door handle with the aim of throwing the door open and bursting in on the boy but immediately stops short.

Behind the wooden door is nothing but silence.

He pauses, hand still on the handle, and listens to the muffled sound of Morty’s sobs. It’s the first time he’s heard Morty’s voice since they got back.

He rests his forehead against the wood and reaches up a hand to caress the door as though he were running his hand up and down Morty’s back.

“Morty…” Rick murmurs.

* * *

A month later, Morty nearly breaks his neck while skiing on Ice Planet Hoth. 

It wasn't the best choice, in hindsight, given that Morty still isn't used to his new arms and legs. But Rick makes it up to him by buying him the universe's best hot chocolate.

And that isn't just promotional puffery either.

Morty raises the mug to his lips, his eyes widening in awe and then closing in enjoyment as the perfect substance takes effect. Rick watches with a smug expression as Morty eagerly laps the foam from his lips with a small smile. Cute. 

They don't talk about it.

* * *

Slowly, but surely, they settle into a routine. 

After each silent adventure, no matter how enjoyable, Morty hastily leaves the ship without a word and goes back inside the house and up into his bedroom. Before the family go to bed, either Jerry or Beth bring Morty a plate of food that was optimistically left at his place at the dinner table until bedtime. Rick offered to take the plate up multiple times but received a glare in response. 

Rick can't explain why he lets Jerry have this win, but he doesn't press the matter further. 

Then one evening, Morty appears in the dining room and nervously takes his seat. Rick just wishes Jerry was smart enough to not say anything because suddenly Jerry is pointedly asking Morty about his adventures and jovially talking about how great it is to finally have him downstairs.

Rick could throttle him and from the look on Beth's face, she isn't far off doing so herself. After all Jerry's first attempts at engagement fall flat, he decides to rely on off-colour humour instead. He makes a loud joke about Chinese people and Glip-Glops and Rick watches with amusement as Morty rolls his eyes.

Then Rick's heart stops as Morty's eyes land on him. Rather than look away after having been caught staring, Rick holds his gaze. 

It is the first time Rick has properly looked at Morty's face since they arrived back on earth.

Finally, Morty breaks eye-contact and Rick exhales, his chest giving a tentative flutter when he sees a faint blush in Morty's cheeks and the smallest shadow of a smile.

Rick decides this is progress.

* * *

Their adventures have properly resumed after around six months. While fun at first, eventually Rick had to get back to business and now each one carries them a little closer to the whereabouts of Summer Smith. There are a lot of rumours, and most of them are fruitless. But thankfully Daisy calls almost daily and Rick is pleased with the progress she’s helped him with. He had no idea when he first bribed her just how strong an asset she could be. 

He caught her eyeing him up a couple of times too, which Rick isn’t too prideful to ignore. He’d shoot her a smirk now and then and she’d blush and look away bashfully. It’s flirtation in its most basic form and Rick mainly does it to take his mind off his mute sidekick.

But there is that _other_ reason…

At first he just notices it from the corner of his eye. Daisy’s gaze would find Morty and even though the kid isn’t speaking, his physique is enough to draw some serious attention these days and clearly Rick isn’t the only one who's noticed.

“There’s a new hostess club which is having a rooftop party,” Daisy explains. “Someone there—his name is Shade—he should know something about Summer.”

“Thanks, Daisy,” Rick says curtly.

"I'll secure you both invitations and we'll check it out."

Daisy smiles up at him from under her lashes and Rick returns the look coldly.

“Once we find her, I-I’ll give you what I promised,” Rick reassures her.

“Mhm,” Daisy hums and her soft lips turn into an uneven smirk.

It’s not hard to know what she’s after. Rick’s pretty sure that look would melt most men.

“Anyway…” Rick begins hastily changing the subject but before he knows it, Daisy’s hand is on his hip, her other hand softly caressing his chest.

“Really though, Rick, I’m only _half_ interested in that particular reward.”

“Y-You know there’s no need to prostitute yourself at this point, right?” Rick points out placidly.

"I was never a _prostitute,_ Rick." Daisy says with a playful eye-roll. "I was a hostess."

Rick eyes her up thoughtfully.

She’s buxom but elegant. Waves of red hair cascade down her pale freckled shoulders. She’s definitely his type. And he’s not exactly uninterested.

She bats her eyelashes up at him and Rick’s heart skips a beat.

Her eyes are dark brown. Like chocolate. Her lashes are thick and dark.

Rick grins.

 _Alright,_ he decides. _Fuck it._

After all, he told Morty it was over. He may as well move on.

“Baby,” Rick purrs, “by tomorrow morning, the neighbours are gonna learn my name.”

He’s rewarded with another giggle.

Rick doesn't touch her or let her help him remove his clothes. Then he bends her over his workbench, his hands on her waist holding her place as he enters her. He won’t force anal on her but he doesn’t fancy the thought of doing her any other way except like this. He can’t see her face but thankfully she doesn’t seem to mind. He tries to lose herself in the waves of red hair that cascade down her back, she cries out in surprise when he roughly grabs a fistful for leverage.

He takes in her undeniably sexy form and can’t help thinking how eagerly he would trade the voluptuous beauty before him for someone more subtle. 

He may be “moving on” but he can’t help imagining a slim muscular frame instead of plush breasts and ass. 

Rick imagines a smaller, tighter behind for him to slip into. Short wavy locks instead of long auburn tresses. He imagines those chocolate brown eyes were someone else’s. Someone younger and more timid. Someone with pudding for brains who always managed to wander into danger. Someone who never fails to piss him off. Someone with sun-kissed skin and no freckles. Someone thin, wiry, yet growing stronger every day. Someone who Rick wishes could be his and his alone.

The garage side door opens and Rick scowls.

Ever since they resumed their adventures, Jerry has been keeping an annoyingly close eye on him. As if Rick would try something _here._ He whips his head around to tell the stupid man not to bother him and to turn the TV up louder if he’s making too much noise.

But Rick stops silent.

Morty is stands in the light of the doorway, his eyes wide and swimming with hurt.

 _Shit._ Rick can’t seem to stop himself. He keeps ploughing into Daisy who wails with pleasure while Morty stares at them both. _Why? Oh god, why now?_

The kid hasn’t shown any interest in the garage until this moment. His timing is fucking impeccable.

Rick grimaces in shame as he feels his groin grow hot with renewed excitement.

_Fuck! Why is it so much better with Morty watching?_

Their eyes meet and Morty blinks slowly, as though pulling himself out of a stupor. 

“What the fuck are you doing here you little turd?” Rick suddenly barks. “Y-You wanna fucking _knock_ next time?”

Morty is silent as usual. And Rick immediately regrets his words. He didn’t mean to be so venomous towards the boy, he was just surprised. And not just by the rude intrusion but the way his arousal seemed to shoot from fifty to a hundred in the space of a head-turn.

“Morty…” Rick tries to soften his tone into something gentler but the word mingles with his arousal, turning it into a charged moan and—oh _shit—_ the silent little weirdo is inching closer. Like Rick extended him a fucking invitation and not an order to snap the fuck out of it.

“Hm?” Balls-deep in Daisy, Rick almost feels bad for momentarily forgetting about her. Rick can hear the seductive smile in her voice when she says sweetly. “There’s room for one more, sugar.”

It takes Rick a moment to figure out what she means. His eyes widen and he suddenly rips himself out of her and zips himself up. 

“D-Daisy, you—you’d better go,” Rick says awkwardly, firing a portal to Daisy’s hotel room.

Daisy pouts playfully for a moment but then seems to take in the look on Rick's face.

"Okay," Daisy agrees. "See you 'round."

Rick fires a portal for her and she's gone in a second. Rick stares at the empty space left behind before turning to the doorway.

Morty has already gone.

  
  



	5. Silence

"Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence."

— _Desiderata_

* * *

Rick insists on resuming their adventures.

Morty doesn’t have it in him to protest. He ambles along on each journey with barely-concealed reluctance, contributing no more than a doorstop or a paperweight might. He watches the city writhe around him. Urban jungles of concrete and metal, teeming with so much life that they seem to be living entities in and of themselves. They revisit Grippernips and Morty watches, forgotten by the wayside, as Rick flirts with more beautiful and deserving lifeforms.

Well… at least Rick isn’t doing it _in front of him_ anymore, Morty grimaces. The fact that Morty realises he is grateful for something like that invites in a whole new wave of misery.

Tonight is a night like any other day ending in Y, he sits on an overly squashycouch in the waiting room as he waits for Rick to finish. They’re visiting a freaking _brothel_ and Morty somehow feels even more dejected than ever because of it.

  
  


“ _I don’t want to use you anymore”_

  
  


A loud animalistic grunt can be from one of the many closed doors to his right. With a mind defenceless from a lack of sleep, Morty can’t help thinking of Rick.

The man had always been so shameless when it came to nudity and sex until Morty caught him with Daisy.

He met her properly today, it turns out she owns this establishment. Morty was originally quite ready to hate the lady but he was surprised by her grace and ability to make him feel at ease. He cursed himself for not feeling more awkward around her.

Morty sighs and looks down at his unmarked wrist once again. He can’t stop staring at the skin there yet he cannot bring himself to bring a knife to the flesh. To do so would feel like a petty insult to Rick’s work. And the fact that Morty no longer thought of his body as his own and instead some kind of… _project_ of Rick’s makes him feel more sickened than ever.

“Checking the time?” a pretty blonde asks. “You’re gonna have trouble without a watch.”

She looks almost human, which is a welcome relief. She has a pretty pale face with large eyes and a small mouth. Morty’s reminded of an anime character. The only thing that really unsettles him are her glowing white antennae poking out from beneath her hairline which reminds Morty that he is not in the presence of an actual human girl. Nevertheless, she seems kind and her concerned smile feels genuine if a little patronizing.

Daisy’s Brothel has prided itself on providing the perfect girl for every client. Morty guesses this is what they think he needs.

He won’t argue otherwise.

Morty shakes his head and lets himself sink down into the couch.

“Not a talker, huh?” says the blonde. “That’s okay. I’m not into guys who talk too much.”

Morty startles when a small white hand lands on his knee.

“Wow. Jumpy.” she says kindly. “I get the feeling you’ve been through some stuff. Is that the case?”

Morty doesn’t know how to respond to a question like that. Been through some stuff? He’s been through Heaven and Hell and not just in the metaphorical sense. He tries not to look at the door Rick disappeared through over an hour ago; it stands out obnoxiously in his peripheral even though it is identical to all the others. By now, Rick will have moved on to the main event. Morty shuts his eyes.

_Don’t think about it!_

The girl gives his thigh an affectionate squeeze.

“That’s alright,” she says soothingly. “You wanna come back to my suite, handsome? No charge for a cutie like you.”

He’s flattered. Obviously. Though the blonde girl is more sweet than sexy, she’s certainly not bad looking if a little bit—for lack of a better term— _loli._

Her hand closes around his smooth wrist and Morty complies without question when she guides him to his feet. Well, if Rick’s moved on...

_Okay,_ Morty tells himself. _Might as well do this._

They make their way down the corridor which is lined with doors, each one containing some sinful secret. The walls are purple. The floor is black carpet. Morty wonders vaguely if the colour scheme was chosen to minimize obscene stains.

She pushes open one of the doors and to Morty's surprise he finds himself entering a pleasant looking suite with soft carpet, exposed timber walls, and a homely smell that reminds him vaguely of caramel. A crackling fire flickers in the center of a stone fireplace. The place feels more like a luxurious log cabin than a brothel.

There’s no denying it: it’s nice here.

“C’mere,” Blonde looks at him with a honeyed, cheeky smile, before taking his hand again and leading him to the bed. Morty follows her awkwardly. It's a huge bed. You could fit a whole orgy on there. Morty notes the black covers amidst the array of darkly coloured furs and his mind goes back to lewd stains. He shudders and hesitates before sitting down. Blonde is perceptive as hell and she squeezes his hand reassuringly. “It’s alright, hon. Just you and me here. Lets get ourselves comfortable.”

Morty perches on the edge of the bed and feels the mattress dip where the girl kneels on it. He’s never done anything like this before and he isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to do with his hands. He feels soft fingers land on his shoulders and immediately stiffens at the kind touch.

Mr. Jellybean liked to rub his shoulders…

“My name’s Clover by the way,” the girl informs him in a whisper. He feels her breath on his neck, her lips close on Morty's earlobe before she adds, “if you don’t want to tell me yours, I don’t mind.”

She slides around and off the bed so she's kneeling in front of him. Morty breathes a small sigh of relief, realizing he feels a lot more at ease when he can see where she is and what she’s doing.

“But of course, it _would_ make things easier,” she muses playfully. “Out of curiosity, you _can_ talk, right? I mean… you do have the ability don’t you?”

Morty hesitates, watching nervously as those white antennae glow a little brighter, then nods awkwardly.

He isn’t sure what he expected but he certainly did not expect Clover’s smile to fade and her eyebrows to knit together in sympathy.

“Oh dear! Sweetie, you must have been through Hell,” she says sadly.

Morty surprises himself by nodding meekly.

“You poor thing! I am _so_ sorry,” Clover’s voice is like silk, and when he looks down into her face he can see her words are sincere. Those antennae keep up a persistent white glow but it is not obnoxious or overly bright, it feels more like that of a glow worm. “You didn’t deserve any of it. Not one moment. And if he knew, he’d tell you the same thing.”

Morty’s numb mind gives a weak _Huh?_ before Clover places a soft hand on his cheek and Morty finds himself relaxing into the touch.

“Will you let me take care of you?” she asks.

Morty closes his eyes.

After he turned fifteen, Morty no longer thought about what his first time would be like. At some point he figured that he’d probably be a virgin forever and after a few months of self-pity, he’d accepted that fate. Until Rick started to touch him…

It was all so much simpler with Rick. He could allow Rick to take over and make him feel safe and comfortable. But with a girl, Morty would have to take charge wouldn’t he?

Morty swallows.

Can he really do this?

A hand slides up Morty’s thigh and Morty’s eyes flick open in alarm. She’s about to unzip his fly and even though the touch has enticed his flaccid cock into a tentative erection, Morty is suddenly a lot less okay with this.

_No!_

His mind whites out for a second and Morty has to consciously drag himself back to the present.

Clover is looking up at him with concern, like she somehow _knows_. Even though Morty still can’t bring himself to say anything she nods in understanding. “It’s alright. We’ll go at your pa—”

_BANG!_

The door to the suite bursts open and off its hinges. Pieces of wood are scattered all over the floor. Morty scrambles backwards in fear and shame, it takes him a moment to realize he did not consent to anything yet but even when he snaps back to reality—the shock of the moment finally wearing off—he can’t help shrinking back from the towering figure in the doorway, illuminated with the flickering fire, giving the appearance of a literal demon from Hell.

“GET YOUR UGLY MITS OFF HIM!” Rick roars and Clover shrinks back in fright.

“S-sir? Th-this is a— a _private_ session,” she begins and then immediately quiets when Rick fixes her with a particularly menacing glare. Morty has to hand it to her, she’s being brave as hell right now.

“Who told you you could do this?” Rick snarls. “Who told you you could touch him?”

“Madame Daisy,” she answers in a quivering voice. “Sh-she said it would be a kind gesture to—”

“You inform Daisy that _my_ grandson is off-limits,” Rick glowers and seizes Morty’s wrist, violently yanking him to his feet.

Morty’s head swims. He’s still not used to the weird new feet Rick gave him and he stumbles forward, almost falling flat on his face. Rick catches him around the waist and hauls him upright.

Morty doesn’t want to cling to Rick but without something firm to hold onto, he’s going to collapse. He looks at Clover who is staring up at Rick with abject fear in her eyes, which of course only serves to make him feel even worse.

Rick fires a portal and before Morty can blink, Rick has flung him into the garage.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Rick cannot believe how suddenly the night spiralled out of control.

He’d enjoyed himself at Daisy’s new establishment. Hell, he’d enjoyed his time with Daisy herself. More than a half-decent lay, she was doing everything she could to help him find his granddaughter. Apparently this Shade guy lived in the upper west side of Grippernips and he would be throwing some sort of black tie thing soon, to which Daisy had already secured invitations.

She informed him of all of this while Rick reclined on the heart-shaped bed with Daisy’s best men and ladies. He needed to relax but even after several rounds, he still found his thoughts drifting back to the boy in the waiting room.

He would have been considerate enough to leave the kid at home except Jerry’s out somewhere again and Beth is giving a lecture at the university and Rick just doesn’t feel comfortable leaving Morty alone anymore.

The young man in Rick’s arms makes an impatient sound and Rick goes momentarily cold. The sound is disturbingly familiar and Rick realises with a jolt that its the same noise Morty makes when he finds something funny but—for whatever reason—is too much of a prude to openly laugh. And the girl on Rick’s right has short red-brown curls. And the one who was just sucking on his toes has lips that look just like—

Oh fuck! He’d been fucking a room full of Morties—or at least cheap knockoffs.

“I’m telling you, it’s okay,” Daisy had reassured him when she caught his look of alarm. “This place is secure. I’m not chancing another incident with the Federation like my last job.” Daisy got out of her seat and strode over to the bed to rest a reassuring hand on Rick’s shoulder. “He’s safe here.”

“Ugh, that—that’s not what I’m worried about,” Rick replied. Not that he really knew how to elaborate on that. “He’s… y’know? Young and—” Rick shakes his head. “Oh nevermind.”

“Would you like me to send someone to look after him?” she'd asked.

“Yeah, yeah that— _erp!—_ that’s a good idea.”

Rick thought she was just getting someone to _sit_ with Morty. Not squirrel him away to god-knows-where and put their slimy hands all over him.

He wrenches Morty away from the little slut and shoves him through the portal before chasing after him into the garage.

Morty’s feet point in wildly different directions, sending him stumbling all over the place. A metal tray on Rick’s workbench clatters loudly to the floor as Morty gropes at the table for balance. The anger that’s coursing through Rick’s veins suddenly stops as he notices Morty’s ankle twist around wildly. Morty’s expression turns from shocked to agonised in an instant and the boy lands heavily in a sitting position next to the bench.

A twisted ankle is hardly the worst injury the boy’s ever had, but it’s a hundred times worse considering Morty’s dubious mental state. The boy’s face is white, his eyes wide and darting to each corner of the room as though searching for enemies that may jump out at him from the shadows. His whole body is wound tight with tension as he clasps his injured foot.

“Morty…” Rick consciously gentles his voice. “C’mon, it’s—it’s okay.” He makes a move towards the boy and this time Morty scrambles away from him. Rick looks down at the bruises blossoming around Morty’s ankle and feels himself tense.

Okay, this isn’t working.

Rick edges over to the corner where Morty is cowering and crouches down, being careful to keep his movements slow and predictable.

“Easy,” Rick says soothingly. “It’s alright, Morty. You’re alright.”

Morty won’t look at Rick. Instead he reaches down and wraps both hands around his injured ankle, pulling the injured limb protectively against himself.

“No don’t do that, you idiot!” Rick cries out.

And sure enough, there is a sickening crunch followed by a wail of pain. Morty collapses his head down against his knees, his shoulders rise and fall in powerful shuddering sobs.

Rick watches helplessly.

Every instinct urges him to wrap his arms around the boy and comfort him, but with Morty in his current state, Rick doesn’t know how touching him will affect him.

He wanted to put Morty back together. To remake him in his own image. But instead he managed to break Morty worse than ever.

  
  


Rick sighs and rises to his feet.

  
  


Jerry told him to fix this. And there is clearly only one way to do that.

  
  


Rick fires a portal.

  
  


“I…” Rick begins but his mouth suddenly feels dry and his throat constricts painfully. “I gotta go, M-Morty. I’ll let your Dad know where you are.”

Rick desperately wants to look away from Morty’s tear-streaked face which is now staring up at him intently. But he won’t turn away. Not this time.

“I’m— _uh_ —gonna go get ice cream, kay?” Rick tells him. “I… I don’t need your brainwaves this time. I’ll be fine.”

Morty’s expression doesn’t change.

“See y—” Rick cuts himself short. “ _Goodbye,_ M-Morty.”

Rick turns towards the portal.

“ _R-ick_ —”

Rick freezes.

_C’mon, coward, get moving_ _._

But it’s the first time Rick has heard Morty speak in months and the sound of his young voice has Rick paralyzed. Morty coughs and Rick finds himself turning back to look at the kid who is desperately and stupidly trying to stand on his injured ankle.

“I…”

Rick’s heart stops. Morty’s voice is hoarse and dry, as though he barely knows how to use it. He coughs again and Rick watches as the kid wills himself to stand tall. Finally, he opens his mouth.

  
  


“Rick. I _can’t_ handle it.”


	6. Helter Skelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to have some difficult conversations...

_Do, don't you want me to love you_   
_I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you_   
_Tell me, tell me, tell me, come on tell me the answer_   
_Well, you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer_

—The Beatles, "Helter Skelter"

* * *

Once a man has witnessed infinity, he can never truly turn his back on it.

  
  


How many times in this life has Rick Sanchez walked away?

  
  


He walked away from suburbia, from ordinary things, and returned to the darkness of the Void. He abandoned his original family—Summer and Beth and The Idiot—not once, not twice, but more. He abandoned the titles of Husband and Father, Soldier, Ally and Friend.

He even abandoned _Her._

  
  


“ _Rick. I can’t handle it.”_

  
  


The odd whine in Rick’s ears finally dulls to something more manageable.

Rick looks down at the dark-haired boy. He’s wobbling on unsteady feet—like a baby antelope—and his eyes are shining with tears. He doesn’t look afraid or desperate, and Rick can respect that, the boy simply looks _hones_ _t._

“W-what did you say?”

Morty sniffs and fresh tears cascade down his cheeks. “I _can’t_ handle it.” Morty repeats. “If—if you go. S-So please don’t leave.”

Rick is still. Unable to walk away, unable to walk forward, it’s as though his genius mind has ground to an uncomfortable halt.

“Morty…” But Rick has no idea how to continue the sentence. He has to leave. He _has_ to. But there mere fact that the kid exists is enough to drag him back here every time. He has never been inclined to revisit Dimension C-137, he has never read into the whereabouts of his old friends and colleagues, and he has certainly never missed his old life. Yet he is nearly constantly dragged back and forth like the tide between the cosmos and his grandson to the point where he can no longer imagine a life with one without the other.

  
  


_What are you?_ Rick asks silently. _Why can I never seem to quit you?_

  
  


_(… Isn’t it obvious?)_

  
  


One a man has witnessed infinity—

  
  


Morty’s face finally falls and his legs give out from under him. He stumbles sideways and a loud crash guts the silence as Morty tries to steady himself on an unstable set of old scales Rick had been using to measure megaseeds.

Morty grimaces and Rick notes the kid’s fucked-up ankle. Morty’s foot isn’t pointing in the right direction at all and he’s precariously balancing on his other foot, clearly avoiding putting weight on it.

The portal behind him disappears with a satisfied sound and Rick quickly pockets the portal gun, emitting a resigned sigh.

“Shit,” Rick groans when he notes the boy’s pained expression. “For goodness’ sake Morty, wh-why you gotta be— y-you’ve got another foot don’t you?”

Morty shoots him a death-glare.

“Quit being a baby,” Rick rolls his eyes before helping Morty up onto the bench. Morty doesn’t protest. The kid is quiet and docile once more but his expression remains sour. Rick can’t mask—or understand—his own elation at that tiny amount of progress and quickly sinks to his knees, avoiding the boy’s line of sight.

He carefully unties the Morty’s laces and slides his shoe and sock off his swollen foot.

Morty tenses and Rick feels himself grow uneasy. He jabs the needle into Morty’s ankle and he’s rewarded with a sharp hiss of discomfort from above before the garage echoes with the sound of Morty’s metal bones clinking back into their rightful place.

Morty’s toes wiggle animatedly and he experimentally moves his foot up and down.

“See?” Rick trills, “all fixed.”

Morty breathes a sigh of relief and Rick can almost hear a quiet “wow” that, even now, makes him swell with pride.

He quickly turns away in order to chuck the empty syringe into the bin, sharing his own relieved smile with the floor.

“Rick...” Morty’s voice is frail.

“Y-Yeah?” Rick doesn’t turn around, quickly finding an old perpetual motion machine with which to tinker.

Morty gives a tiny gasp followed by a sob. Rick keeps his eyes fixed determinedly on the device in front of him and notes that the bulb needs changing.

“Wh-what did you do to me, Rick?”

Rick frowns.

_What did I do?_

The bulb needs changing and the wheel needs greasing. The device doesn’t need power but it can still use a good clean now and then.

“I saved you.”

* * *

This isn’t about Morty’s injured ankle, but Morty’s fairly certain Rick wouldn’t understand that.

This is about Craig Thompson.

_(You’ve never killed a human before have you?)_

Morty feels ill.

Somehow it wasn’t like killing an alien.

_(Real flesh and blood. Probably more soul than you have now.)_

He remembers shooting his first Gromflomites back when he was fourteen and first following Rick on his adventures. That sharp moment when he realised the creature he had just blasted was not some robot— _“They’re bureaucrats, Morty! I don’t respect ‘em!”—_ but a sentient being with a wife and children.

Morty watches Rick’s back from the other side of the garage. He can’t help the ongoing throb of hurt as Rick continues to determinedly work at his inventions. Dexterous fingers which just moments ago cared for him are now carefully unscrewing a bulb on an old device.

Morty can barely make out the words when Rick mumbles “I saved you.”

  
  


… _Saved me?_

  
  


Starlight, warmth, love, the feeling—no—the _knowledge_ that he was welcome and safe… And Rick tore him away from all that under the illusion of _saving_ him? He was done. He was finished. He didn’t have to fight or hurt anymore. He could live in such a state forever if he so chose.

  
  


_(...And then you killed a man.)_

  
  


In every religion, in every timeline, Morty knows the consequence of such an unforgivable sin.

He will never return.

  
  


Rick suddenly spins around on the spot and grins at Morty with a glint in his eye that is borderline maniacal. Morty freezes instantly. He knows that look. It’s Rick’s own _Eur_ _eka!_ look.

“A-and I made you better! See? Ch-check this out, Morty!”

Rick reaches into the nearest drawer and in one elegant movement, turns and throws the shining silver scalpel at Morty’s face. Morty’s hand moves so fast neither of them can see it, artfully catching the scalpel between two fingers right before the sharp point could hit the bridge of Morty’s nose.

For a drawn-out moment, Morty stares cross-eyed at the sharp scalpel in front of his face before his gaze lifts and sharpens upon Rick. He lowers the scalpel and puts it in his pocket.

“See?” Rick says enthusiastically. “Neat, huh? And l-look, look, that’s not all they do!” Rick reaches into his pocket for his phone and casually hooks it up to the bluetooth speaker he installed in the wall. As the music fills the atmosphere, Rick swoops across the room, grabs Morty by the hand hand hauls him to his feet.

  
  


Morty doesn’t know what to make of the sudden movement. It feels strange, like his brain is still seated on the table, while his limbs are following Rick’s own movements as naturally as if he were walking or breathing.

Even more mysterious… since when does Rick listen to electro-swing?

His smile never wavering, Rick spins Morty around and then pulls their bodies flush together. Morty has never heard the song, never danced this way, but somehow he knows all the steps.

It probably shouldn’t be, given everything leading up to this point, but this is actually sort of … _fun._

The pair break away from one another and Morty suddenly decides he wants to lead. His feet are on board before he knows it and he’s immediately and comfortably in control, it certainly helps that he and Rick are almost the same height now. He spins Rick where he is and moves his legs around so Rick has to be pulled through them. The pair break away, no longer touching, and start a side-by-side routine that Morty has never seen before but is reminiscent of ‘The Rick Dance.’ Then Rick takes over once again, seizing Morty’s waist in one arm, spinning him, and then lifting him so Morty is straddling Rick’s middle.

Morty’s feet know every step almost as soon as Rick decides to take them. And that thought has Morty suddenly flushed with worry. He remembers Birdperson, the way Rick implanted _something_ inside his best friend’s head in order to bypass whatever the Galactic Federation did to him.

Morty’s insides grow cold.

 _Oh god._ Has Rick done something like that to him too? How much of Morty’s insides has Rick experimented with?

Morty catches sight of his own smooth unblemished wrist and suddenly feels sick.

How much of himself is left? How much is just a manifestation of Rick?

He pushes Rick away in a rush and stumbles away from him in horror.

“Morty…?” Rick sounds irritated. “H-hey, what’s…?”

“Stay back!” Morty suddenly shouts. He lifts up his hands to ward off his grandfather and is suddenly horrified to find his flesh as peeled away to be replaced with those deadly plasma cannons, each whirring into life with Morty’s growing sense of terror.

The same inhuman cowardly weapons that have already disintegrated a human being.

His hands are weapons, his feet have minds of their own, and Rick may or may not have messed with his brain.

Morty isn’t sure which thought horrifies him more.

“Woah, okay Morty. Okay… j-just… c-calm down a sec,” Rick says in a deliberately composed voice, his alarmed expression betraying him horribly.

“What have you _done_ to me?!” Morty cries out.

His voice doesn’t sound like his own. It’s even higher-pitched than normal and ugly with hysterics.

“Morty, you need to— Just t-try to calm down…”

“Don’t tell me to _calm down!_ ” Morty cries back. “Have you _ever_ tried to _calm down?_ It is a paradox!”

“Okay, Morty, just—”

“I need to _**know!**_ ”

The canons fire.

Rick tucks and rolls out of the way, leaving a smouldering hole in the garage door, and then raises his own golden robotic arm in retaliation.

“I _told_ you to calm the fuck down you little turd!” Rick yells as his own weapon begins humming into life.

But Morty just can’t _take it anymore._

All those gentle touches and kind words had convinced Morty otherwise. But Rick is not a doctor and Morty was never his patient. Rick is—for better or worse—a scientist. And Morty is nothing more than an experiment.

The words sound through Morty’s frazzled panicked mind like the vibrations of a stricken gong.

  
  


“ _I don’t want to use you anymore.”_

  
  


Morty lunges without thinking and, to his shock, his feet let him spring forward in a way he has never experienced. Clumsy with artificial agility, Morty crashes into the wall in front of him and stumbles backwards, dizzy with the impact to his head, before toppling over onto his hands and knees.

“This is what I get for saving you?” Rick cackles behind him.

Morty turns and sees that Rick’s golden robotic arm has morphed back into it’s human shape. But Morty still eyes it nervously. Rick’s face is an odd mix of amusement and annoyance.

“You— you’re a fucking _monster_ , Rick!” Morty cries.

“Yeah?” Rick yells back. “Well I’m the best motherfucking monster you’ve got, baby! Do you have any idea what kind of—kind of _shape_ you were in, Morty? D-d-do you have any idea what was left? You were just a head and torso, Morty! Barely even that!”

Rick stoops to grab Morty by the shirt and haul him to his feet but Morty shoves Rick away once again.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Y’know what?” Rick’s expression turns nasty and his voice lowers to something vicious. “M-Maybe I should have also replaced your _brain,_ Morty. Yeah. Then maybe I’d have a sidekick who wasn’t such an idiotic pain in my ass!”

  
  


The words are meant to hurt.

Morty’s chest tightens.

  
  


  
  


“Morty…” Rick says patiently. “You… you gotta understand…”

“Wh-why, R-Rick?!” Morty cries out and he realizes with shame that tears are streaming down his cheeks. “Why couldn’t you just let me go?”

“Let you…” Rick’s eyes widen. “Morty! I would never—”

“Why not?!” Morty sobs and looks down at his now deceptively human hands. “Everything… it all fucking _hurts_ here, Rick! You’ve brought me back as this… _thing!_ Is any part of me still human? Whose—whose heart is this? Whose kidneys are these?”

“Morty, I really need you to calm the fuck down,” Rick says tersely. He looks furious and horrified and mentally exhausted all at once.

Morty looks away and sucks in a deep angry breath through his nostrils.

* * *

  
  


“You know I can mend broken arms and legs in seconds,” Rick explains. “But… but there was nothing to mend this time, Morty. You were…”

_Gone._

Rick dry-swallows and shakes his head, quietly grateful that Morty isn’t looking at his face.

“...Th-the portal closed too soon, Morty. Your arms and legs were left behind. And Izroth blew before I could go back and reattach them. Morty, there was just nothing I could do.”

“You could have left me!” Morty snaps. “You could have let me stay the way I was.”

Rick stares at Morty in disbelief. How can he explain this?

“I couldn’t.” Rick says blandly.

Morty doesn’t speak for a moment, he continues to glare angrily at Rick.

“Why the hell not?” Morty asks.

  
  


_Because…_

  
  


“Y-Y-You just… r-really hate losing don’t you, Rick?” Morty accuses. “That’s it isn’t it?”

  
  


_Because…_

  
  


“Morty, it’s just… your mother—”

Morty makes an annoyed grunt and rolls his eyes.

“Look, it’s complicated okay? I could switch dimensions, I could find another Morty to take your place, but it’s not that simple anymore.”

“Why not?”

  
  


  
  


_Because_ _I love you. So much it’s killing us both._

  
  


  
  


“Because, in case you weren’t listening to that other Rickhole from wherever, the Intergalactic Governments _—_ yeah, I said government- _sss,_ as in _more than one—_ are now corresponding with one another across dimensions. So replacing you? Not so simple anymore.”

“Oh.” Morty looks away, clearly dissatisfied.

* * *

  
  


Rick could never understand. He’s _above_ human insecurities and emotional irrationality like this. Clinging to his precious humanity is the sort of thing Rick puts up with but can’t really accept.

“Morty,” Rick explains. “You’re still _you_ , you idiot.”

“Am I?”

“D-doyee,” Rick rolls his eyes. “What you—you think you’re a cyborg now and that freaks you out?” Rick snickers. “First off, cyborgs are cool, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

“But Rick—”

“And _secondly_ ,” Rick points out, “you’re no more a cyborg than Summer or any other teenage girl practically stitched to their phones. If you’re out of the cyberspace hivemind, you’re doing a lot better than most people. So I gave you weapons for arms? So what? Would you rather I developed an app for you?”

Morty blinks. He hadn’t really thought of it like that. Hell, he hadn’t really thought about it at all. All he’d really done since he woke up was feel sorry for himself.

“And _third,_ ” Rick continues. “If you’re trying to figure out where your humanity ends and your—y-your _cyborgness,_ ” Rick air-quotes, “begins, then you’re asking th-the wrong question, Morty.”

“But—”

“But _nothing,_ Morty. Listen to me. Listen.” Rick continues to rant. “Y-Y-You keep alternating between seeing the world around you as something beyond your control a-and viewing yourself as an unstoppable force. But th-the reality? The reality, Morty, is that neither of those things are accurate. Being what you are and being human aren’t mutually exclusive unless you want them to be. You a-aren’t some object that stuff just _happen_ _s_ to. _You’re_ the one who gets to choose the outcome of—of all of this. And the only way for you to truly give up your humanity is for you to make that choice, Morty. People sell their souls, they aren’t stolen. So stop being lazy by handing control of yourself to other people a-and start taking charge for once.”

“Aw jeez Rick,” Morty murmurs. “I-I don’t wanna stop questioning things.”

“’Course you don’t,” Rick rolls his eyes. “Big existential questions are important, Morty. Y’know… a-aside from keeping philosophy majors employed somewhere other than Starbucks. Th-they’re scary, they’re lonely, and charging out into the universe in search of the answers to questions that barely made sense in the first place? That’s how we grow as people.”

Rick pauses for a moment and glares angrily at the smouldering hole in the garage door.

“The human race would have died out thousands of years ago if we refused to question things.”

“So, Rick? Um. A-are you saying that people need to ask the big questions in order to progress?”

“No, y-y-you got it ass-backwards, Morty.” Rick casually wipes some drool from his chin with the back of his hand and scoops a handful of unusable medical equipment into the bin. “I’m saying that we need to ask the big questions in order to be _human._ They help us progress, s-sure, but they also help to ground us. Th-they keep us, I dunno, _humble._ ”

“Oh.”

Morty looks at his feet. Shame stains his cheeks as Rick’s words sink in. He knows Rick isn’t outright chastising him but he can’t help feeling like a little kid who has been sent to into the naughty corner. _Good grief,_ he can’t believe how childish he’s been.

Rick keeps busying himself in other areas of the garage. Cleaning, tinkering, chucking out old bits of machinery. Morty watches him with casual interest. A curious mad scientist through and through, the man can never seem to hold still and turn off. Rick isn’t just a man who asks the questions, he’s the man who rose up and sought out the answers because he recognised he was the only one who could.

“I just… I _remember_ , Rick.” Morty says after some time. His mind drifts away to floating in starlight. The feeling of being everywhere, nowhere, welcomed and unimportant all at once. If Morty lets it, his mind kindly lets him fall back into nothingness, like clinging to sleep in the early morning…

“Remember what?” Rick asks. Morty looks up at him and for a fraction of a second he notes a haunted expression on his grandfather’s face.

“I think you might be wrong about an afterlife, Rick.”

“Oh n-no. No, no, no _Morty_ ,” Rick says quickly, “you—you gotta move past that kind of thing, trust me.”

“Move past…?”

“Near death experiences can do that to people. Y’know? The… the human brain can be benevolent s-sometimes. Makes dying kind of _pleasant_. But y-y-you gotta forget that stuff okay? Or else you’ll just keep wishing for it.”

“Yeah…” Morty nods. “Yeah, okay Rick. Sure.”

He isn’t convinced. He _knows_ what he experienced. It was not some euphoric hallucination. It was the real thing. Morty experienced something that was on a level completely different to that which Rick’s portal gun could provide.

Rick could never understand.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“H-Hey, Rick?”

“Yo.” Rick picks up his old helmet and studies it absent-mindedly. “Fuck, wh-where’s my Phillips head?”

“That, um, th-that girl—the alien—at Daisy’s brothel? The one I was with?”

Rick freezes.

“What about her?” he asks tersely.

“Well, what—what was she? She kinda seemed to, sorta, know stuff about me? And she made me feel sorta weird...” Morty rubs his arm in embarrassment, finding it hard to explain the feeling of his mind being stripped naked.

“Weird as in… _bad?_ ”

Morty doesn’t like the darkness in Rick’s tone.

“No…” _Yes? Kinda?_ “Just, um, weird. Sorta.” Morty absently scratches at his elbow.

Rick turns around to look at him. He eyes Morty up and down and for the millionth time, Morty feels like he's under rigorous examination. He shuffles his feet awkwardly.

“She was an Emphenwy Elf,” Rick states finally.

“Im- _fen_ -wee?” Morty says slowly.

“Empaths," Rick explains, "low-level psychics, a-and probably the most _invasive_ species in the universe.” Rick scowls and gives a small shudder. “Not my cup of tea, those guys.”

“Oh okay.”

“Why?" And Rick's eyes narrow in a way that makes Morty feel like he's being x-rayed. "D-Did she do or say something to make you uncomfortable?”

“What? No!”

Rick raises an eyebrow skeptically.

“Alright, yeah, I guess a little but it’s fine.” Morty says hurriedly. "I'm fine."

Rick’s expression morphs into something Morty doesn’t recognise. The only word that springs to mind is _uncomfortable,_ but it's deeper than that somehow.

“Rick? Wh-what’s wrong?”

“Morty, just—just listen for a sec?”

“Sure, I’m listening.”

Rick pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment and closes his eyes, taking a long deep breath as though preparing himself for a particularly unpleasant conversation.

“Morty if—if someone touches you, in _that_ way, y-you know you’re allowed to say no to them right?”

“Huh?”

“Like, if someone touches you—” Rick awkwardly trails off. “And that goes for me too, oh-okay? If someone does something you don’t want, y-you’re totally allowed to push them away and tell them to get fucked.”

“Wait, what?”

“Morty, I-I-I really don’t know how I can make this clearer—”

“No I mean,” and Morty can’t help snorting with laughter, “a-are you seriously giving me th-the sex talk, Rick? Now?” Morty smirks. “You know I’m eighteen right?”

“No, I mean, I know, it’s just…” Rick gives Morty a pained look. “You might know what feels good but you do know, like, you don’t _have_ to do anything with anyone just because they’re touching you.”

“Rick, you’re not making any sense.”

“Morty, you’re not—” Rick sighs and runs his hand through his hair, “you’re not like other people.”

  
  


…

  
  


“I mean your brain.”

  
  


…

  
  


“Morty, your mind, someone—”

  
  


…

  
  


“Someone hurt you.”

  
  


…

  
  


“Look, a-a-all I’m saying is you have the _right_ to give and rescind consent.”

  
  


…

  
  


“...Morty?”

  
  


Morty’s mind fizzles in and out of focus and he blinks as though waking from a dream.

“A-Are you saying I’m brain-damaged?”

“Your words, Morty.” Rick says with a shrug.

“Wh-when?” Morty stammers. “How?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t remember…”

“I know. That’s a part of it.”

“You… you don’t want to be with me because of that?” Morty checks. “Because my brain’s all fucked?”

“No! And… and yes.” Rick sighs. “Morty I don't want you to think this is normal. I don't want you to think you have to do that stuff.”

“Clover wasn’t hurting me."

“If you mean the Emphenwy, she wouldn’t have understood what was wrong. She’d have sensed the damage but probably couldn’t pinpoint the source.” Rick looks disgusted. “Y-Y-You would have been a curiosity to her. An experiment."

Morty grits his teeth at Rick's obvious hypocrisy.

"She shouldn’t have touched you.”

“I didn’t mind.”

Another lie. Rick sees through it immediately.

“She should have seen something wasn’t right and backed off.”

“It’s okay, Rick. I didn’t mind.”

“Yeah? Well…”

“Well what?” Morty probes indignantly. “Y-You don’t make any sense, Rick! You don’t want me to be with you, you don’t want me to be with anyone else. Wh-what exactly do you want?”

Rick looks blank for a second.

"I know what sex is, y'know?" Morty says crossly. "I know—y'know—what goes where and everything. And I have the mental capacity to consent even if _you_ think I'm too young or too stupid. And Clover wasn't pushy or grabby," Rick's face is unreadable at those words, "she was just touching me. It was fine." Morty rolls his eyes in annoyance.

Who the fuck is Rick to get all high and mighty about experimenting on him? Is _Rick_ the only person who gets to do that? 

"I'm not some dumb robot, Rick."

Rick's face suddenly lights up and Morty frowns. 

"What?"

“Robot!" Rick cries. "Holy _shit_ , Morty! I've figured out exactly how to track down Summer!”

Morty raises an eyebrow.

“Robot!” Rick says again. "As in the word rabota _—slave—_ what's the one thing Summer is a slave to?"

Morty frowns. "Uh... her phone?"

"Exactly!" Rick throws his hands up in the air. "So all we have to do is—"

“RICK SANCHEZ OF DIMENSION C-137!”

Rick’s face turns into a foul scowl and he glares out of one of the holes Morty made in the garage door. “Oh for—”

“COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

The side door to the garage burst open and Beth runs in.

“Uh Dad,” Beth says slowly, barely-concealed annoyance lacing her tone, “why is there an army of insect people, squirrels, and a floating purple woman outside our house?”

“Aw jeez, Rick!” Morty whimpers, clapping his hands to his face. “Th-they found us here.”

Rick lets out a groan. “Yeah, well, it was only a matter of—matter of time, let’s face it.”

Beth folds her arms. “Dad?”

“THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING BEFORE WE OPEN FIRE. RICK SANCHEZ COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

“Y-Yeah, I—” Rick runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. “S-sorry sweetie but I gotta take care of some things outside.”

“Uh yeah, obviously,” Beth tuts.

“WE _WILL_ OPEN FIRE IF YOU DO NOT—”

“Okay! Okay!” Rick cries out in exasperation. “Sheesh!” Rick starts to awkwardly make his way out of one of the smouldering holes in the garage door. It’s clearly not a comfortable fit and he has to twist around comically in order to make it through. “Y-You people know I could have been on the— on the can, right?”

“OUR RESEARCH SHOWS YOU ARE A SHY POOPER!”

“Wow you guys are thorough…” Rick mutters as he finally makes it through the hole.

Beth frowns and thoughtfully places the pad of her thumb against her chin. “Huh. Why didn’t he just open the garage?”

Morty stands up straighter, his eyes widening.

_Why didn’t he just open the garage?_

“Oh my god!" Morty jumps up as he realises Rick's plan. "Uh… uh l-l-let’s see…” Morty begins jamming random buttons under the workbench.

“Morty…?” Beth says with concern.

None of the buttons work. _Shit._ What did he…?

Then another brainwave hits and Morty runs to the broken washing machine, twists the knob, and the side wall pulls away revealing an arsenal of weapons.

“Grab a gun, Mom!” Morty says quickly. “W-We gotta go back up Rick.”

“Morty! We— that’s an _army_ out there!”

“That’s an army? Aw jeez, Mom I hadn’t noticed!” Morty rolls his eyes. “They have an army but we’ve got an angsty teenage cyborg, a sociopath with a medical degree, and a fucking _god_. I think we’ll be fine. But if you wanna sit out then you can sit out. Be my guest. I’m gonna go help Rick.”

Morty seizes his favourite blaster: the one with the orange part near the barrel and extra doohickies on the sides. It’s not particularly impressive but there’s something particularly sci-fi about it that has made Morty extra fond of it. He shoves it into his pants before grabbing one of the larger weapons and throwing it over his shoulder.

With one squeeze of the trigger, Morty disintegrates the garage door and is met with a horrible sight.

He gulps.

_Shit…_

Sure enough, a vast army of Gromflamites and squirrels are standing before him. In front stands his grandfather, his hands raised above his head and bound by a set of glowing green handcuffs.

With a loud _bzzzt!_ the handcuffs are disintegrated and Morty turns in surprise to see Beth holding up her own plasma rifle.

“Morty?”

“Yeah Mom?”

“I want these pests off my lawn and I’m all out of DEET.”

“Wh-whatcha gonna do?”

Beth cocks her rifle.

“Improvise.”


	7. Geppetto I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively: The Tragic Story of How Shy Morty became Mutey.

_I've got no strings_   
_To hold me down_   
_To make me fret_   
_Or make me frown_   
_I had strings_   
_But now I'm free_   
_There are no strings on me_

—Dickie Jones, "I've Got No Strings"

* * *

He is a cruel man.

  
  


Morty always wanted to call him evil. Certainly, the word fitted his erratic, sadistic personality like a glove and whenever Morty thought the name _Rick Sanchez_ the word _evil_ wafted into his mind like an unwanted smell.

But when Morty stops to actually consider the word _evil_ , his grandfather never did first pop into his brain. Cartoon villains, men who kick dogs, a horse that showed up at his mother’s work once—so viciously beaten that it took almost an entire day in surgery—these were things that surfaced when Morty imagined a personification of _evil._ After all, Rick did a lot of bad things but he did a lot of _good_ things too. He was kind to Morty’s mother in a way no one else could be. He showed Summer a kind of love driven by negative attention that Summer had always craved. He regarded the world with disdain and disinterest but he was never unnecessarily awful.

No, no evil man would do such things. Rick was kind when it suited him. It just never suited him to be kind to Morty.

  
  


“Where are we going, Rick?”

  
  


Rick ignores him as Morty obediently follows him through the portal.

When Rick first started to bring Morty along with him on his adventures, Morty thought he was being offered a particularly special treat. It was only once he was there that he realised Rick’s gift was actually a curse. Nevertheless, Morty did as Rick told him. He didn’t like to think about how wrathful Rick could be when he refused, didn’t like to imagine how easily his protector could suddenly become his tormentor. Or worse…

...Leave him behind.

Only a few nights earlier, Morty awoke to Rick crawling into his bed in the middle of the night. Morty kept fighting with reality, convincing himself it was a bad dream, that Rick was his _Grandpa_ and he’d never do something like this, that it didn’t really happen. Rick was cruel, Rick was confusing, Rick was complicated and preternatural and—yes, he was a criminal—but he wasn’t a...

Morty felt the last tendrils of sleep leaving him as Rick pressed a hand possessively over his mouth and guided Morty’s own trembling hand to his exposed erection. Morty frowned, repulsed and confused, and looked up into the shadows concealing his grandfather’s face.

  
  


He’d never had sex before.

  
  


When Rick pulled back when their eyes met in the dim light of the moon than shone through the crack of Morty’s curtains and Rick placed a soft out-of-character kiss to Morty’s hairline.

  
  


“I… Morty I...” Rick's words were slurred. “You’re ahh...you’re a real good kid, Morty.”

  
  


Morty mumbled a soft _“Aw jeez...”_ behind Rick’s hand and Rick sighed with something that could have been exasperation or satisfaction—without sufficient light to illuminate Rick’s face, it was too hard to tell.

  
  


“I...I know I can be mean Mor-Morty but I _l_ _o_ _ve_ you...”

  
  


The words spilled over Morty’s face, stinking of sickness and alcohol and something rotten. They tasted like the bile bubbling up Morty’s scorched throat. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to scream. After all the bruises Rick had left on Morty’s skin—which now ached as his grandfather pressed his weight into them—after all the beatings and lashings… is this really how Rick was going to show love?

  
  


“Y-y-you know that right? Right, Morty? Tell me you know that.”

  
  


Morty wanted to speak but Rick had taken that from him. He nodded vigorously behind Rick’s hand and hoped it would appease his grandfather enough for him to let him go. Thankfully, Rick sighed and removed his hand from Morty’s mouth, proceeding to guide Morty’shand up and down the swollen flesh between the legs straddling Morty’s waist, encouraging Morty to grasp him tighter.

Morty grimaced when Rick breathed drunken praise in his ear.

  
  


“Good boy Morty. Just like that. Good boy...” Rick groaned. “Be a good boy for Grandpa…”

  
  


Somehow, Morty’s mind has been kind enough to let him forget the rest of the night. As well as the nights that followed. He remembers gentle touches that scorched his skin, praise and compliments that ripped him apart, and expressions of love that felt more like bribery—sinister ploys to keep him docile and quiet.

Now Morty trudges resolutely behind the man who made him feel like nothing at all and the whole universe all at once. They walk through a Hellscape called the Citadel of Ricks. It is called that even though there are just as many Morties living here.

Even Morty can see the obvious divide between the classes.

Rick stops suddenly, causing Morty to slam into into him, earning him a contemptuous glare. Morty gulps. He knows he’s clumsy, and when he tries extra hard not to be, his anxiety serves to make his clumsiness worse. Rick shoots him a look of disgust and turns away, ignoring him. Morty can’t help feeling a stab of petulance. Why is Rick acting so disgusted with him when just last night he…

He…

Morty looks at the ground, suddenly too sickened with himself to look at anyone.

His own Rick and another are speaking in businesslike tones and Morty cannot concentrate on their words even though he has been reminded numerous times to pay attention to Rick’s activities.

  
  


_'Pay attention, Morty! This could save your life someday you know!'_

Rick always used to bark at him when he noticed that Morty’s gaze had clouded over with confusion.

 _'Aw jeez, Rick._ _I’m trying...'_

  
  


But what was the point in paying attention when it never made any sense anyway? Rick once wanted seventeen-hundred flurbos for a plumbus polish that would turn the plumbus membrane zondiflurp for the next thirteen zectares. How was Morty supposed to know what any of that stuff meant? He didn’t even know what a flurbo was.

Morty rubs absently at the bruise flowering on his arm. Rick grabbed him a little roughly today when he wanted him to hurry up and get his dumb ass through the portal. He hopes Rick doesn’t notice him rubbing it. Rick doesn’t like being reminded of his own lack of self-control.

  
  


_'Quit your bitching, I didn’t grab you that hard!'_

Morty trembles and consciously holds his hands at his sides.

  
  


“A-are you sure you’re okay with this?”

  
  


Rick’s voice sounds concerned. Morty knows he is not speaking to him. Hell. Maybe that isn’t even his Rick. Is it possible for any Rick to sound like that?

There is more speaking, then Morty’s tender arm is grasped once more and he is suddenly shoved at the man in front of him.

Before he can blink, once again, Morty finds himself fighting with reality. He spins around and sees his own grandfather striding away, lab coat billowing behind him and another Morty walking proudly at his side.

“Rick?" Morty blinks. "Wh-where are you going, Rick? Wh-what’s… oh jeez, oh man… Wh-what’s going on?”

A hand lands heavily on Morty’s shoulder and Morty goes rigid.

He actually did it. After all those threats, all those promises that if Morty didn't fix his flaws he'd replace him, Rick finally grew sick of Morty’s uselessness and abandoned him with another Rick. Another Grandpa.

Terror sinks into every nerve and Morty can’t fight it as the other Rick steers him through a portal.

 _No!_ Morty thinks _No! No! No!_

Unable to think, see, or feel anything but panic, Morty is manhandled through the portal. Cold hard concrete suddenly flies up to meet him as he lands on his hands and knees in the middle of what appears to be a familiar garage.

“Where—?” Morty begins and a pair of shiny black shoes peeking out beneath brown slacks appear in front of him. Morty chokes back the urge to vomit.

It is the garage and at the same time not the garage. It is his grandpa and at the same time not his grandpa.

_Wrong._

This is all _wrong._

Everything looks and feels and _is_ _—_

“Hey… hey… calm down, kid. It's okay.”

But Morty can’t! Air rushes past his ears. His heart is in his head. Why does his throat hurt? Why can’t he get enough air? He’s going to be hit again isn’t he? And this Rick is different. He's going to be rougher. Might not be able to hold back in the ways Morty’s original grandpa could.

Morty's old Rick always liked to remind him just how much worse things could get.

The new Rick suddenly seizes him by the scruff of his shirt and hauls him upright. Morty cowers as Rick bares down on him. He's going to be hurt. There's no avoiding it.

"There ya go," Rick's voice is muffled by the pulse thudding inside Morty's head. "You're alright."

He blinks away the dizziness and lets the world around him swim into focus. Reality lies bare before him, he cannot deny it, cannot run from it. He must either acknowledge it or slip into insanity.

“Rick?! Wh-wh-where am I?” 

His gaze darts wildly around the garage. It _smell_ _s_ different somehow: woody and natural as though Rick enjoyed other recreational hobbies in addition to science.

“The garage.” The new Rick explains. He explains a few other things too but the whirring sound inside Morty’s head is ruining his concentration.

If only he wasn’t so _stupid!_

Then the new Rick mentions a dimension number and Morty panics all over again.

“I’m… I’m in the wrong—”

“N-n-no. No, Morty. You’re in the right place, kay? I… y-your Rick and I switched Morties. Th-this is your new home dimension.”

“Buh-but what about the dimension I left behind?”

Rick looks at him with a sad fond smile that Morty does not recognize at all. Oh _god!_ Morty’s head _hur_ _t_ _s_ _!_

“What about the dimension where Hitler cures cancer?" The other Rick says with a shrug. "The answer is don’t think about it.”

“Oh god, oh jeez, oh… oh my god...I’m freaking out. I’m… I… I...” 

_HurtHittingTouching...don't move, don't scream, he'll make it worse for you._

The other Rick drops to his knees in front of Morty and surveys him with a concerned knit of his unibrow.

_Wrong!No!Kind? ...don't move!_

“Talk to me, Morty. What’s going on? Wh-what are you feeling right now?”

That’s not right. Rick doesn’t talk like that. Rick tells him to suck it up and shut up. Rick strikes his face and calls him stupid, retarded, an idiot… asks him if aliens stole his brain and replaced it with melted gummy bears. Rick threatened him with a knife. With a gun. Threatened to disintegrate the family if he ever told—

Gentle hands reach out and take Morty’s bird-bone wrists in each hand, placing Morty’s trembling hands delicately on Rick’s open palms. Morty realizes that his fists had been clenched and he slowly uncurls his fingers as Rick holds his hands out in front of him.

“There you go. Take a deep breath, Morty.” Rick instructs him and Morty obeys. He’s so light-headed he’d cling to anything solid. “Now, tell me what’s up. What’s wrong?”

“I… I’m...” Morty fumbles about for the right word. He finally settles on _“confused.”_

It is the only word in Morty’s woefully limited vocabulary that fits the muddled mess of his mind. He desperately hopes the word choice won’t somehow make this new Rick angry.

“Confused.” The new Rick says the word slowly, like he’s tasting it on his tongue.

“Y-yeah.” Morty stammers. “You’re… y-you look like him. M-my Rick. But you’re n-not… are you? I’m... I don’t understand!”

Morty’s bottom lip quivers and shameful tears cascade down his cheeks.

“Why?”

“Oh Morty...”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Morty had always known he was ultimately useless. The result of a cosmic wound that could never be closed: a particularly nasty side-effect of his parents’ loneliness and desperation. His mediocrity forever staining the universe and constantly irritating his endlessly patient grandfather.

But now Morty realizes he wasn’t even that: he was a _thing._ A possession that could be bought or sold.

“No, Morty.” The Rick explains kindly. “Not at all! W-We Ricks switch around all the time. Your Rick and my Morty both wanted a change and I agreed to it. I’m sorry. I-I thought your Rick would have told you.”

Morty stares at the floor.

“I would never have agreed if I knew you hadn’t given consent, Morty. A-And if you really want to, I can organise a way for us to switch back. He’s Me so he won’t like it, but I reckon I can talk him into—”

It takes a moment for Morty to register what the new Rick is offering. Finally, he looks up at Rick who has finished talking several minutes ago.

From what Morty knows about the multiverse, this man should be identical to his grandfather. Yet the pair are undeniably different in a variety of ways. His lack of facial scarring is the first thing that Morty notices. The man wears a pale blue shirt beneath his trademark lab coat, as opposed to the black one Morty’s original grandfather used to wear, his face is mostly unblemished, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses sits on the bridge of his nose. But the most alarming change of all is the man’s familiar stern features have morphed into an expression of solemn concern. The effect is bizarre, making Morty’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Are you going to be alright?” The blue-shirted man asks. “Do you want me to send you back?”

“N-No!” Morty exclaims. Surprising them both. “No! P-Please don’t!” His gaze finds the floor once again and Morty flushes with shame. “I don’t want to go back to… t-to him.”

The new Rick reaches out to him then, and when Morty looks up he notices the man's frown deepening as he runs his hand over the yellowing bruise that covers most of Morty's upper arm.

“Did he hurt you, Morty?”

Morty doesn’t answer. His gaze finds the floor and he shuffles his feet awkwardly.

“Look at me, Morty.”

Morty does not want to look at the man who both is and isn’t his grandfather. But he recognizes the tone and knows better than to disobey. He slowly lifts his gaze so he can bravely look the old man in the eye.

This Rick's eyes are different than Morty's other grandpa's. They're blue, as usual, but these ones are lighter and seem more natural somehow, like the ocean beneath a cloudless sky.

Those clear blue eyes narrow with a seriousness that makes Morty’s heart still. Rick places a firm hand on his shoulder and squeezes it affectionately. The limb is still very tender but this Rick couldn't know that and Morty knows better than to wince or show any signs of discomfort.

“I will _never_ harm you, Morty." Rick's voice is low. "Understand? Never.”

Morty bites his lip and Rick tilts his head questioningly.

“My grandpa says—said—th-that all Ricks are the same...”

“Yeah, well…” Rick sighs, “let’s just say that I’m not exactly the Rickest Rick out there.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Morty never gave much thought to the little things he gave up in order to stay in his new grandfather’s good graces. After all, it’s not as though Rick asked for anything Morty might actually miss.

“Aw jeez Rick, n-not that I'm questioning your motives but in the time you rigged this up c-couldn’t you have just helped me with my math homework?”

“Morty, you know what happens if you do your math homework? They give you more math homework. It’s—it’s—it’s a pointless endeavour, Morty.”

“But Dad says—”

“ _Jerry._ Says a lot of stuff, Morty." Rick replies with a tired roll of his eyes. "School’s not the place for you, Morty. It’s not a place for smart people. You should...you should just drop out and be my little helper full-time.”

“Aw jeez, Rick. I… I don’t think my Mom and Dad would like that...”

But Rick said he was smart. Or at the very least heavily implied it. And now Rick is patting the spot next to him on the sofa and Morty obediently ambles over and sits down. It’s _his_ spot. _His_ place. Seated at the right hand of his grandfather. And in the end Morty gives up another evening of his life to the man who could turn a black hole into a sun.

At the first commercial break, Rick turns to look at Morty and Morty’s spine straightens.

“Jeez, kid…” Rick breathes. “I’ve seen ironing boards that were less rigid. Wh-wh-what’s your deal?”

“Aw jeez… I-I’m just— I’m fine, Rick. Really, I’m fine.”

“Morty,” Rick heaves a sigh, “if this is making you uncomfortable then you don’t have to sit here.”

It sounds like Rick is giving Morty the option of leaving, but Morty knows better. Rick called him smart, called him his little helper. And Morty knows those are the ways his old Rick liked to butter him up and keep him docile. 

“I’m good,” Morty says determinedly and consciously relaxes his shoulders.

* * *

  
  


The older unpleasant memories of Morty's original grandfather begin to fade, gradually replaced with experiences of stardust and of wonder.Rick takes him everywhere. They visit Atlantis, Mars, a version of earth where it snows vanilla ice cream, The Moon, and dimensions with creatures that defy all logic. Rick smiles fondly as Morty reacts with excitement to even the most mundane of adventures. Even a routine trip to Furp Rock Plaza has Morty practically bouncing with delight.

Morty indulges himself: drunk on all the wonders his mesmerizing grandfather has to offer.

“Are we going on an adventure Rick?” Morty asks as he strides into the garage, his voice cracking with excitement. He doesn’t bother to knock anymore. Though Rick has never outright said so, he’s made it clear that Morty is never unwelcome.

“Uh...s-sort of. I gotta go somewhere on an errand, then we’ll get to the fun stuff. Kay, sport?”

“Okay, Rick.”

But as soon as they are through the portal, gnarled claws of panic dig in and Morty nearly collapses on the hard ground.

“Oh GOD!”

“Morty! Morty, calm down!”

“Not here! P-please Rick! Please take me home!”

The passers-by on the Citadel streets stop and stare as Morty melts down before his grandfather. Invisible walls give way and Morty feels naked and ashamed beneath the unimpressed gaze of each of them.

He’s going to be sold to another Rick again. And this one will be mean and violent. Morty is sure of it.

“Morty, it’s alright. I’m just running and errand, remember? We’ll be out of here before you know it.”

Morty shuts his eyes tight, breathing deeply. He needs to be calm. He needs to impress Rick and be brave. That way, Rick won’t leave him behind. Rick surely wouldn’t get rid of him if he were perfect, right?

“Good boy, Morty. Stay with me.”

The praise ought to ease Morty’s discomfort but instead of relaxing him, it only fills him with more unease as he tries to keep up with Rick’s long stride.

When Morty sees that they are meeting with another Rick, Morty can’t help suddenly seizing his own Rick’s arm and clinging to it. The pair talk, Morty listens, none of it sinking in as usual. It doesn’t make any more sense than it did back with his original grandfather. Inside his head, Morty wails with despair. Once again, he is failing to pay attention.

He is going to be sold again. He knows it.

If only he were smart enough to follow the conversation.

Finally the other Rick makes a comment about _him_ and Morty shrinks back in fear, ducking his face behind Rick.

  
  


“Oh, my Morty? He’s just a little shy,” Rick explains casually. “A shy Morty. But you’re right, he is a cute one.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Oh jeez. Oh man. Oh jeez...”

“It’s okay, Morty. You did great! I’m so proud of you.”

Tears drip down Morty’s cheeks but Morty can’t bring himself to wipe them away. He stands trembling in the middle of the garage, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists as he tries desperately to calm down. This Rick does not need an overly emotional little brat dragging him down. Morty needs to be stoic. He needs to be strong.

But it doesn’t matter how much Morty scolds himself, he can’t help the terrified tremors running up and down his body and he wraps his arms around himself in a tight hug as though trying to hold himself together.

  
  


_'_ _Get over yourself, M-Morty! I didn’t hit you that hard!'_

  
  


“What’s wrong, Morty?” Rick adjusts his glasses and crouches down in front of him.

Morty shakes his head and tries to back away, edging closer to the door.

“I— I gotta go…”

“Morty, y-you’re in no condition to be out there. Just wait and calm down for a moment.” Rick reaches for Morty’s hand and Morty flinches away.

“I...I’m s-sorry Rick… I… it’s nothing. I...” Morty breaks. “I hate the Citadel, Rick. He… he abandoned me there. Pl-please don’t make me go back there, Rick!”

“Morty I...”

“It’s Hell Rick!”

“Okay,” Rick agrees. “I’m sorry, Morty. We...we won’t go back there.”

“Pr-promise?” Morty whimpers.

“Yeah, oh-of course, Morty. I promise. Come here.”

Rick gets close to Morty and Morty tenses, waiting for the blow. But instead, Rick carefully wraps his arms around him, pulling him close against his chest and rocking him soothingly. It takes a while, but soon the tension begins to leave Morty’s muscles and he puts his arms around the man who is proud to call his grandfather. They stay like that, Rick swaying gently and holding him, letting Morty make the call to finally let go.

* * *

Morty feels himself being peeled open and put back together, stitch by mundane stitch as Rick works on his latest gadget. He sits perched on the workbench where Rick likes to keep an eye on him as the pair of them exchange opinions, banter, and talk openly about the universe. Morty does not have to change his opinions to appease Rick, Rick accepts them regardless of whether he agrees. And in the hallowed space of the garage, Morty learns to find comfort in his own self.

“Okay, Rick. True or False: you and my grandmother were never actually married.”

“False. We did the whole shebang, kid.”

“Ha! Looks like Summer owes me a Toblerone.”

“Alright, Morty. True or False: you’re gay.”

Morty bursts out laughing.

“What?”

“You had to throw that at me?”

“Well are you?”

“Are you?”

“Good point.”

Morty smirks to himself and Rick stops what he’s doing. Giving Morty a curious once-over, his gaze seemingly fixed on Morty’s mouth. His tongue peeks out momentarily in order to wet his lips and Morty’s heart skips a beat.

“Rick?”

“Yo.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Wow!” Summer smirks. “You two sure are getting close aren’t ya?”

Morty frowns, tilting his head to one side in question.

Summer had been watching the pair of them with a knowledgeable glint in her eye and Morty shuffles uncomfortably on Rick’s lap.

Until now, he’d never really given much thought to the way he sat with his grandpa while watching Interdimensional Cable. After all, his relationship with his previous Rick was so uniquely toxic he still isn’t sure how normal grandparents and grandchildren are supposed to behave with one another. He’d assumed this was normal but the way Summer grins at him leaves him weighted with unease.

Rick sits the way he usually does: leaning back with an arm slung over the back of the couch while Morty sits side-on, leaning against his chest, his legs stretched out in front of him on the couch cushions. Rick rests his elbow on the arm of the chair, his hand sometimes lazily raking through Morty’s hair.

Rick glares at the TV.

“What do you mean?” Morty asks.

“Shut up, Summer,” Rick snaps.

“Oh come on Grandpa Rick,” Summer teases, “you know I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well, m-maybe you should.”

“Jeez. Soh-ree! Just… y’know, this past year I’ve noticed a huge change in both of you. You’re, like, entirely new people! It’s great, really!”

“That’s it!” Rick growls, nudging Morty off him before standing up with a kind of brusque suddenness that Morty couldn't distinguish. “I’ll be in the garage.”

Morty sits dumbfounded as the garage door slams shut.

“Geez, what’s his problem?” Summer remarks in a bored tone before turning her attention back to her phone.

  
  


* * *

  
  


"Rick?" Morty asks tentatively as the door behind him closes with an apologetic snap. “What happened back there?”

“Nothing.”

“Wh-what was Summer talking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Wh-what did she mean by a welcome change?”

“I said it’s NOTHING!”

Morty flinches as Rick bellows the word at him, slamming his latest contraption onto the bench.

He doesn’t know whether he should flee or stay put. Sometimes Ricks need space, but drawing attention to their anger just made it a hundred times worse. Frozen in place, Morty watches as Rick slowly calms himself, running a hand through his hair and gripping ruthlessly at the blue strands. Morty chooses not to approach. He’s seen Rick angry—well, he’s seen _a_ Rick angry—and doesn’t dare incur more wrath. Instead, he waits obediently for Rick to give him any attention he deserves.

Finally, Rick turns and removes his glasses in order to nervously clean them on the lapel of his lab coat. He then surveys Morty carefully, making Morty tense as he feels Rick’s gaze trace up and down his body. Finally, Rick sighs, adopting a more gentle tone. Though from the tell-tale twitch in his eye, Morty can tell it’s a strain.

Morty stiffens.

“The Morty before you was different.”

“I know Rick.” Morty responds immediately, as though he had practiced it. “I...I know he was smarter than me. I could try to be more like him...”

“NO!”

Morty turns white at Rick’s suddenly venomous tone and Rick once again sighs out his anger before looking carefully at Morty.

“No, Morty… he was smart but he wasn’t… right.”

Morty does not understand.

“He… Morty, he wasn’t like other people. The neighbour’s dog went missing and the family—gawd, this family!—th-they just pretended they didn’t know what happened. No one wanted to admit it was him. I kept telling your parents to take him out of school, I kept telling them I could help. I’d put him somewhere where he couldn’t hurt anyone else, but th-they wouldn’t listen to me, Morty. They wouldn’t listen! I knew he was up to no good. I knew he was… but I couldn’t just get rid of him. I needed his brainwaves and I knew if I did his—your—mother would never forgive me. Eventually, I decided to trade him for someone else, to protect—well—t-to protect the neighbourhood.”

“So Summer’s noticed that her brother is different? That… that doesn’t seem l-like a big deal, Rick. After all… I am different.”

Rick glares at his shoes.

“Yeah. Her _brother..._ ”

  
  


* * *

“I thought you said you hated the Citadel.”

“I do!”

“So...so why are we talking about it, Morty? Wh-why are you suddenly so obsessed with what they think of you?”

“I’m not it’s just… aw jeez, I know there’s Reptile Morty and Cowboy Morty and Left-Handed Morty...”

Rick mutters something about not talking about Left-Handed Morty.

“And I’m just like, hey so… I dunno? Maybe… what’s my thing, Rick? What Morty am I?”

“Ugh! Wh-why do you care?”

“I dunno? ‘Cause identity is important to a teenager?”

Rick rolls his eyes.

“Y-you wanna know?”

“Mm!”

“You really wanna know?”

Morty nods.

“You’re Shy Morty.”

“Shy Morty?”

“Yeah. See? It’s not interesting or special! You’re just… Shy Morty. ‘Cause, y’know, y-you don’t talk.”

“Oh.”

Morty droops and Rick looks up.

“But...” Rick continues carefully. “I think of you as My Morty.”

Morty perks up a little, something warm unfurls in his chest and he tries not to smile too wide.

“Really, Rick? Even though… we’re not… y’know?”

“Yeah Morty.”

Morty beams.

Rick is the only entity that could ever take someone as unloved as Morty and morph him into something worthy. Morty gazes gratefully up at the god who had graciously chosen Morty to be his only disciple.

“Just don’t get to big for your loafers, kid.”

Rick reminds him sternly and Morty nods in understanding.

Nothing good could ever come from a cocky Morty.

  
  


* * *

Morty knows his rightful place is at his grandfather’s side and Rick shines like sunlight into Morty’s soul. He worships the light Rick gives him. He would never hide while Rick was looking at him.

Nothing good could ever come from a cocky Morty.

But Morty can’t help feeling proud when in Rick’s good graces.

“Oh jeez, Rick. Thank God we landed on something soft, huh?”

“God’s got nothing to do with it, Morty.”

“B-But you said the portal-gun was broken!”

“It is broken, Morty, I’m just going through the recent history and picked the best place for us. There’s no God, no luck, and nothing happens on purpose. Gotta rip off those band-aids now, kid.”

“So you don’t… you don’t think us meeting was kind of… I dunno… kind of a miracle, Rick? I mean… wh-what are the odds y-you’d find a perfect new fit for your Smith Family? P-Pretty...pretty small right?”

“I make my own miracles, Morty.”

“S-So you don’t believe in anything?”

“I believe that the human ego is bloated enough to believe that whatever’s responsible for creating the universe actually gives a crap about us. Oh shiiiit! Looks like I just mixed the Evanescent Indicator with the Litmus Indicator. Man, I really overthink shit when I’m angry...”

“Maybe you wouldn’t say that if you met It.”

“You’re right, I’d be too busy suing for criminal malpractice.”

“So… there’s nothing watching over us? Nothing keeping track?”

“Well, there’s the IRS and that U-Tō van that’s permanently parked outside our house...”

“But… that’s so sad.”

“Morty, listen, I’ve been alive a lot longer than you. I climbed on top many decades ago, took reality for a ride, and when I figured out nothing mattered the universe became mine. And I’ve never met a universe that was into it. I’ve scoured every galaxy, thrown myself through every portal, even had some quality time with a few eldritch abominations and until I see some pretty convincing evidence to the contrary, I’m pretty sure we're on our own.”

“But you pray! I’ve seen you do it!”

“Everyone prays when they need to, Morty. No one’s immune from desperation. N-not even me.”

“I don’t.”

“Well lucky you.”

“That’s mean, Rick! Y-y-you know… I don’t talk about it but… but y-you know what my last… what my last Rick was like! I could have prayed. I didn’t. I just hoped for something better and then you entered my life.”

“And now—heh—now what? Now you believe in miracles and God and little cherubs holding harps?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“I believe in You.”

Rick spins on the spot, almost dropping the portal gun. His eyes are wide and Morty recognises the clouded emotions within them: self-hatred, confusion, anger and—Morty stills— _fear?_

“Rick?”

“Y-You’re an idiot, Morty.”

It’s the first time this Rick has ever called him that. Morty watches as Rick hastily repairs the portal-gun, his gaze locked on the inner workings of his toy.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The Universe is a crazy and chaotic place.

Morty knows he is powerless to stop that.

Piece by piece, the chaos takes things from Morty. Nothing he would think much of giving up. Just small things here and there: an evening, a day he would have otherwise spent miserably at school, a week, a semester, a year…

  
  


A lifetime.

  
  


And before Morty can really fathom what it is he is giving up, he has given up everything.

“What do you think, Rick? Do I… do I look okay?”

“Why are you asking— oh.”

Morty watches his grandfather’s eyes widen as he takes in Morty’s appearance. His yellow T-shirt and bluejeans abandoned in favour of a white cotton button-up shirt and charcoal slacks. He had a blazer slung over one arm. It was, of course, for a school dance for which he had chosen to go stag. But the effect was for someone else...

“Rick?”

“What?”

“Say something.”

  
  


  
  


  
  


“You look fine.”

“Oh.”

  
  


A blush creeps into Morty’s cheeks when he sees how rigidly Rick stands.

  
  


“If you really like it, Rick,” Morty suggests coyly, “I could… I could wear this on an adventure. One with… y’know? Just the two of us?”

Rick freezes.

Morty’s heart stirs. Neither of them dare to move.

  
  


Morty gingerly closes the space between them, slipping nervous fingers around Rick’s upper arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Morty...”

Rick breathes his name like a contented sigh as he turns to look at him. And in that moment when Morty’s dark eyes meet Rick’s brilliant blue ones, Morty feels fire on his tongue and electricity bolting through every nerve. He’s terrified and exhilarated all at once. His body moves forward without him thinking about it.

Rick jerks away at once.

“You’ll be late, Morty.”

Heart bruised, Morty turns to leave.

  
  


* * *

That night, Morty gets seriously drunk for the first time.

The bender begins at the dance and then continues alone in his room, eventually ending up in the garage, losing a sock halfway down the stairs. The garage stinks of stale booze, reminding him once more that he shares a home with more than one alcoholic.

Morty realizes at that moment that he hates being drunk and in defeat, he takes another sip.

“Morty?”

A shadow stretches long, thin, and foreboding across the garage floor as the door swings open.

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing, Morty?”

Morty ignores the authoritative tone. Rick’s going to choose now to suddenly be paternal? He scowls at the beer bottle and digs his fingernails beneath the peeling label. He feels like vomiting.

“Answer me, Morty!”

“Aw jeez, Rick. Y-you said the eff word...”

Rick flicks on the light and Morty turns a foul glare at his grandfather. The one who dragged him to awful places. The one who cannot possibly understand how it feels to be fourteen and ugly and useless and have everything just beyond his own grasp of understanding.

Morty sniffles and hides his tear-streaked face.

“T-turn thUH light off!” Morty snaps.

“What have you been drinking, Morty?”

“I said…” Morty swivels around to glare at Rick, “turn thaaat fuck— _braaahp_ —ing light off… y’fuckin’ fucking… FUCK!”

“Yeh-yeah, you’re not in any position to make demands kid. What’ve you been drinking? And why does it smell like piss in here? Did you pee yourself? Gross!”

“What HAVEN’T I bin drinkin’ Rick?” Morty slurs again. “Th’stuff Mom keeps unduh the couch, the stuff yoouuuu keep in the b-bookcase, s-s-some d-delicious… delicious… TURPENTINE!” Morty throws his hands up in the air and feels the light catch the tear-streaks shining on his cheeks, he catches Rick’s expression soften from angry to concerned. Morty sniffs, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, and continues. “…A-And some orange stuff I found in here. I dunno what it is. Feels weird.”

“Orange stuff? Oh...oh jeez. Okay, Morty.”

Morty would later discover that the ‘orange stuff’ was a liquid of Rick’s own design which synchronized existences across all timelines. At that horrible moment, his grandfather wasn’t just looking at Morty, he was looking at all Morties. All in sync. All drunk and miserable and in pain…

Morty staggers to his feet. He looks up at Rick, his vision blurring in and own of focus, seeing different scenes as though he were in multiple places at once. In that moment he doesn’t feel like himself at all and it is becoming difficult to see straight. The world keeps morphing into bedrooms, classrooms, space ships, other garages, other planets…

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, you and me both, kid.”

“Why…?” Morty wept. “W-w-why do you do these things? Why do you throw me into danger all the time? You hate yourself, I—I get it. Buh-but what the fuck did I do to make you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you, kid. I could never hate you.”

“I wish I were dead, Rick. I… please just… just leave. Just leave me alone.”

“Yeah that’s n-not gonna happen.”

“Get OUT!”

“It’s my garage, Morty.”

“N-no, it’s Mom’s garage. Get out!”

“Morty, I’m not leaving you alone when you’re drunk like this.”

“W-why?! D’you...d’youwant credit for the idea? Should I— _braaaahp_ —or do you just…c-care…because…you’re…such a…”

The waves of different realities relentlessly crash over him. He can’t tread these waters forever and Rick watches on placidly as Morty begins to sink. First slumping over on the stool, then flopping suddenly and heavily onto the dirty concrete floor on his hands and knees. Morty dry-wretches painfully a few times before finally vomiting up the entire contents of his stomach.

Some of the orange stuff splashes onto Rick’s shoes but Rick doesn’t move. He simply stands and observes his weak grandson unravel at his feet, dripping vomit, drool and tears. Morty would be ashamed if he could feel anything at all.

He lets out a wet cough and gags on the bile bubbling up his throat.

“Fuck you, Rick!” he splutters. “F-fuck…”

Morty tries to stand but the room spins aggressively and Morty is thrown back onto his knees, now kneeling in the pool of vomit. Tears roll down his cheeks as he looks pathetically up at his grandfather.

Rick squats down, he grips Morty’s biceps and hauls him to his feet. Morty doesn’t have the energy or coherence to protest as Rick steers him out of the garage and upstairs to the bathroom.

He strips him of his sock and boxers and gently nudges him into the shower. Numbly, Morty does his best to scrub himself clean though most of his energy is put into holding himself upright. He doesn’t bother to stop himself from crying. That’s the good thing about showers: the tears became unnoticeable in the stream.

Then Rick climbs in after him, leaving Morty breathless.

Rick’s naked which is something Morty ought to be used to by now but something about this is different. Maybe it's because Morty's naked too. Maybe it's because Rick is the one who undressed him.

Morty's face flushes.

Picking up a washcloth, the kind man carefully dabs at Morty’s face; paying special attention to his mouth, before wiping down Morty’s chest and back. The part of Morty that should feel embarrassed is too broken to care as he is gently manhandled beneath the stream of warm water. The washcloth wrapped around Rick’s hand glides carefully over Morty’s skin, Rick’s unibrow knitted in concentration as he carefully tends to him.

Morty is unable to speak.

He allows Rick to wash him and then gently pat him dry with a soft towel. Rick then puts clean pair of boxers on him while Morty leans awkwardly against the vanity, staring blankly into space.

The bathroom sways as though enduring turbulence and his hand slides on the smooth counter top as Morty begins to topple over sideways. Rick steadies him, seizing his shoulders, but then Morty’s feet seem to give up on themselves and he wobbles awkwardly.

Rick curls one arm under his bandy legs and lifts him up against his chest.

“D-don’t.” Morty protests feebly. “I kin walk.”

Rick ignores him and bridal-carries him into the bedroom, laying him down gently and pulling the covers over him. He sits down on the bed and smooths back a few wisps of wet hair from Morty’s face.

The face petting sets something on fire inside Morty’s hazy mind and he sits up with a start. The pair lock eye-contact and Morty’s face reddens with shame and fear. He remembers this. Remembers it like a particularly horrible nightmare. Realities crash all around him. Stars are falling. Rick is going to… he was going to…

  
  


_'Just hold still, M-Morty.'_

  
  


“Morty?” Rick frowns. "What's wrong?"

“Rick? Rick, wh-what’s happening? Have you…? Oh no, no, no. Oh jeez…”

  
  


_'Be a good boy. Relax and it won’t hurt…'_

  
  


“Hey...hey talk to me, kid. Tell me what's going on." Rick soothes. "Tell me what you're feeling."

Morty can’t answer him—not only because he doesn’t have the vocabulary, but because Rick is honing in on him, his presence rushing to surround him and then sticking to Morty like the drool and sweat that was permanently stuck to his grandfather's chin. The scent of alcohol getting underneath Morty’s skin and coating him in razor-edged, possessive lust. He could barely manage to breathe, let alone talk, and the worst part was that Morty always felt a kind of sick gratitude for the attention.

Morty blinks back the newest onset of tears as he awaits the inevitable.

But just like the last few times Morty’s anxiety got the better of him, Rick carefully plucks Morty’s hands from clutching the bedspread and places them in his own open palms.

Morty watches as his fists unclench in Rick’s gentle hands and lifts his gaze up to meet Rick’s. He isn’t wearing his glasses but even without them doesn’t look like Morty’s original grandfather. This one is different.

“I don’t want to say it,” Morty whispers.

Morty trembles, ducking his face away from Rick’s assessing gaze which makes him feel more that just physically naked. Though with Rick gently holding his hands, Morty can feel his shoulders automatically relax and he chances a look at the blue-eyed, doppelganger of a grandfather. After a beat, Rick experimentally places a warm hand against Morty’s flushed cheek. With his inhibitions lowered, Morty flinches back violently as though he’s been hit.

Rick’s face becomes suddenly grave.

“Did your Rick touch you, Morty?”

A part of him wants to deny it, or to innocently ask what Rick means. Some half-assed method of running from the truth. But instead, Morty nods.

And for the very first time Morty sees genuine wrath in the old man’s eyes. A look which prickles with power and outrage and disgust. Morty stares open-mouthed. He could not have imagined that such a good and gentle person could possibly look so murderous.

“ _Bastard_ ,” Rick hisses.

“It-it’s n-not a big deal, Rick!” Morty stammers. Suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to defend his grandfather. “Y-You’re making it sound worse than it was.”

“It _is_ a big deal, Morty.” Rick says seriously. “Did you tell your parents?”

Morty looks away and shamefully shakes his head. Thankfully, Rick does not press him for the reasons why.

“It wasn’t your fault, Morty. I hope you know that.”

  
  


_'You did it on purpose didn’t you?'_

_'Wh-what?'_

_'Th-this morning. When you were reaching for the cocoa on the top shelf. You made your shirt ride up on purpose didn’t you? God, Morty, do you know what you fucking do to me?'_

  
  


“I… I guess…” Morty bites his lip doubtfully.

“No, Morty.” Rick’s face is stone-cold. “Your Rick should _never_ have done that to you. Understand? It wasn’t okay and it wasn’t your fault.”

  
  


_'Shh… shhh… gotta keep quiet okay? I know you love it but you gotta keep quiet.'_

  
  


Morty’s cheeks redden. His stomach turns and he wonders if he’s going to be sick again. He can’t look Rick in the eye. He’d hate him if he knew.

“Oh no, Morty. _No._ ” Rick says softly. “I could _never_ hate you, kid.”

“Oh,” Morty mumbles. Embarrassed. “D-didn’t know I said that out loud.”

“Well, you _are_ pretty drunk,” Rick says and affectionately rubs Morty’s hair. He then turns serious again and asks kindly, “why on earth would you think I-I’d hate you?”

Morty’s eyes begin to well up with shameful tears. “I… I liked it.” Morty confesses quietly. “Not all the time but sometimes… s-sometimes I liked it.”

“Morty…” Rick positions a knuckle beneath Morty’s chin and lifts his face to look at him. “Even if you enjoyed it, that doesn’t make it okay.”

“He made me— he made it—” but Morty hiccups and suddenly can’t bear to continue. He brings his knees to his chest and hides his face.

“It’s alright, Morty.” Rick assures him. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

"It hurt." Morty mumbles. "But then it didn't hurt... a-anymore. And s-somehow, that made it hurt worse. In a different way."

_'Yeah? You don't want this? You're gonna be a tease? Pretty sure_ this _is saying otherwise.'_

_'Rick... please!'_

Morty sniffles. "B-but I still... h-he gave me my first... my first..."

"Morty, listen to me." Rick's lack of stutter makes Morty quiet. "Even if you had an erection—"

Morty's blush travels down his neck to his chest.

"—or even if you experienced orgasm, i-it doesn't mean that you wanted it. S-sexual arousal is not the same as consent, Morty. You gotta understand that."

Morty nods and looks away, withdrawing his hands from Rick's palms and wiping his wrist across his eyes in order to smear his tears into his temples. He then hugs himself, unable to speak or continue the conversation at all.

And then Morty feels Ricks arms wrapping around him, pulling him safely into a warm hug. A part of Morty wants to recoil and stop the man from touching his naked skin. But another—sicker—part of him enjoys the gentle touches and how reassuring it is to be held. 

He remembers the way Rick’s face contorted into one of immeasurable anger just minutes earlier and, against all instincts, Morty relaxes. Rick would protect him, wouldn’t he?

“It doesn’t make it better.” Morty says quietly. “It doesn’t make me feel… safe.”

“What does make you feel safe, Morty?”

“I feel safe with you, Rick.”

“Morty...”

“Stay with me, Rick?”

“I...”

“Please?” Morty mumbles as Rick moves away from him.

“I’m sorry, kid. I can’t.”

The door clicks shut behind Rick and Morty gathers his sheets up to his chest, hiding his nakedness from the empty room.

* * *

  
  


“What the hell are you playing at Morty you—you—you idi—you little turd?! Wh-wh-what the fuck is wrong with you? Are you r-retarded or something? You—use-useless little shit! You worthless, retarded little...! Juh-just point and shoot, Morty! Just point and shoot! It’s not that fucking hard!”

Morty flinches.

“Why do I even bring you with me if you’re too fucking stupid to follow simple orders? Why? Huh? Why?” Rick grabs Morty’s shoulders and shakes him violently. “If—if—if you’re gonna freeze up like that, what’s the fucking point in bringing you?”

“I’m s-sorry, Rick.”

“You’re sorry?! You little dummy, you nearly got yourself fucking killed and you’re ‘sorry’?!”

“I… huh?”

“Morty!”

Giving Morty no time to shrink back in fear, Rick suddenly grabs the front of Morty’s shirt and throws him up against the adjacent brick wall. Morty’s head makes a sickening crack as Rick hauls him against it, causing a ringing sensation in his skull. He squirms, fighting an onslaught of fear and bewilderment and Morty’s heart thuds in his throat as Rick closes any and all space between them, his face centimetres from Morty’s own.

“D-do you have any idea what it would do to me if I lost you?”

“Aw jeez. W-Well, I… I guess without my brainwaves—”

“Jesus, Morty!”

Morty just stares. He knows Rick wants him to answer correctly, but as usual he has found himself too stupid to grasp the right answers. He needs to try harder. Be better. Why can’t he seem to be what Rick wants him to be?

Rick halts, taking a breathless moment to look Morty up and down while Morty is pinned to the wall. Morty’s heart beats rapidly where Rick is fisting his shirt, but even shouldering his fear Morty still stares Rick in the face. Something about his eyes. Something about the wonders behind it. Morty could never look away from something so strong. It makes him feel alive.

Rick is a god. He could do whatever he wanted with Morty. If Morty did something to incur his grandfather’s wrath then Morty deserved whatever he got in return.

But instead of anger, Rick leans in close and ghosts his lips over Morty’s. Morty’s breath locks in the back of his throat. He closes his eyes only to find Rick pressing their foreheads together, his expression anguished as he leans against him.

“Gr-Grandpa?”

Rick’s eyes widen and when he looks at Morty his expression is filled with horror. He hastily rips himself away as though touching something foul. With a small “oomf” Morty flops to the ground in a crumpled heap. Unrattled, he rises to his feet immediately and dusts himself off.

Rick won’t look at him.

“We should get going, kid,” Rick says gruffly.

Morty silently follows Rick through the portal home. Obedient as always.

* * *

The creature chasing them isn’t quite human and has more tentacles than Mortycan count. It kept sort of _glitching_ as it pursues them and the more Morty thinks about it, the closer it seems to get. Rick had kept warning him not to think about it and now Morty understands why.

The thing was going to ignore them until Morty drew attention to it.

Suddenly, Rick grabs Morty by the arm and throws him to safety inside the ship. Terrified, Morty attempts to hold the door open for Rick but Rick presses a button inside his lapel and the ship barricades itself. Beating his fists on the metal shields covering the doors and windows, Morty screams at the vehicle to let him out.

Finally, the blast shields lift and Morty fights his way out of the passenger-side door, spilling clumsily onto the grass and staggering to his feet before scouring his surroundings for Rick.

His stomach drops when his eyes latch onto a lab coat covered in blood.

He drops to his knees at Rick’s side, hands fluttering over the man’s heaving chest.

“Rick! Are—are you gonna be okay?” Morty stammers.

“My insides are being held in with a poly-cotton blend, Morty, but yeah I’m totes gonna be fiiiine!” Rick rolls his eyes in jest.

“Are you… y-you’ve got a way to fix this, right? S-some hat trick? I m-mean, j-just tell me what to do and I’ll save you, oh-okay? Okay? We – we could download your subconsciousness into a comp… computer and… I dunno…”

“Morty, you—you’ve watched too many dumb sci-fi movies. I’m not Haley Joel. I can’t cure death.”

Morty chokes down a sob and then Rick adds.

“And I… I’m okay with that, Morty.”

“Well I’m not!” Morty cries. “You’re my Rick! A-And you don’t get to die until…”

But Morty can’t finish. Tears stream down his cheeks in a hot flood. Rick lifts a limp hand and gently swipes them away, cupping Morty’s cheek. Morty grabs onto Rick’s wrist and holds it firmly.

“R-Rick?”

“Be better than me, kid,” Rick murmurs. “Gr-grandpa has… Grandpa has… I’ve—”

But of course, somehow, Rick manages to still pull a rabbit out of his hat. They are rescued, thankfully, by some former clients who owe Rick a favour. Morty will never forget the way his grandfather Rick pulled the middle finger at the heavens screaming “Not today motherfucker!” at a god he still swore did not exist.

Or the words Rick had whispered as he began to lose consciousness in Morty’s arms.

“I’ve. Always. Loved you. Kid.”

* * *

  
  


Morty lifts the camera with a broad smile.

“Okay, Rick. Ready?”

“Sure, just don’t make me look ugly okay kid?”

Morty smirks. “That’s impossible.”

Rick’s smile vanishes in an instant and his hand reaches out to grab Morty’s forearm, lowering the camera has his severe gaze looks deep into Morty’s uncertain face.

“Morty...this… this can’t continue.”

“What…?”

“You know damn well what, Morty. You can’t keep… we can’t keep...”

  
  


Rick never asks more of Morty than he is capable of giving.

Rick never asks Morty to give up himself.

  
  


“What do you want Rick?”

  
  


But Morty offers it anyway.

  
  


“I want you so much, kid.”

  
  


And beneath the glittering stars on a planet in a solar system light years away from home, Rick commits the pantheistic sin that weaves Morty’s heart into his own.

Their lips meet.

The stars fall.

And when they finally part, Morty looks up into the solemn face of his grandfather.

“Hold still, Morty.”

“Hm?” Morty frowns. There’s something about his grandfather’s face that makes him uneasy.

“Just be a good boy and hold still for a moment.”

Rick takes a step back and Morty’s blood chills in an instant when a gun is suddenly pointed directly at his face.

“Rick!” Morty cries. “What are you—? Please don’t!”

“I’m sorry, kid.”

The last thing Morty remembers is his head hitting the grass.


	8. Gippetto II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big Courtesy Warning!  
> and also **spoilers.**
> 
> This chapter features an _underage_ sexual encounter between Rick and Shy Morty. If you don't want to read that, then it might be a good idea to skip this chapter.

I've got no strings  
So I have fun  
I'm not tied up to anyone  
They've got strings  
But you can see  
There are no strings on me

— Dickie Jones, _I've Got No Strings_

* * *

“You sure you’re okay?” Rick asks, eyeing Shy Morty with concern.  
  
“I...I don’t exactly like being here but I think I can handle it.”  
  
Rick turns his attention back to the path ahead that in a few short blocks will lead them into the heart of Mortytown. It's the Citadel as it always was but being away from it for so long has brought attention to just how sterile the place is. An artificial sun shines down upon them—shielding them from the dark chaos of space, the perfectly comfortable temperature, grassy knolls that will never turn yellow, even the air has a near imperceptibly pleasant flavour to it... it is all designed so if one were to linger too long, the overall fakeness of the place would feel more and more like a comfy reality. Sure, the Citadel has its class problems and it's political unrest but even the controversy reeks of something manufactured.  
  
The kid hit the nail on the head when he described this place as Hell.  
  
“You just seem quiet is all,” Rick says tersely.  
  
“I’m Shy Morty, remember?” As though demonstrating the point, Morty shines his signature shy smile at Rick. Rick looks away pointedly.  
  
He sorely wishes Morty wouldn't do that in public. He'd probably never be able to say it out loud, but Shy Morty is one of the most breathtaking Morties he has ever seen. Instead of the usual dark brown, Shy Morty's eyes radiate a unique shade of hazel with iridescent gold haloing his pupils. His cheekbones sit a little higher than usual and his jawline is slightly more pointed and pronounced, making him appear somehow both masculine and feminine at the same time. Rick also suspects Shy Morty might be a few centimetres taller than average though he can't be sure since whenever Morty walks amongst his peers on the Citadel he remains slouched and keeps his eyes firmly on the ground. Nevertheless, there is no denying it, the kid is _exceptionally_ pretty.  
  
And Rick is not the only one who has noticed. Ricks—hell, even other Morties—have been sneaking glances at the kid throughout their walk into Mortytown. Rick has been observing them with icy scorn, noting the way they hastily avert their gaze when been caught. Meanwhile, Morty walks timidly at Rick's side, his eyes either on the ground or at random mundane sights throughout the Citadel, oblivious to the attention. The kid's confidence may have improved over the past year but it hasn't stopped Rick from eyeing him carefully, noting any signs of an oncoming panic attack.  
  
“Alright whatever, kid,” Rick rolls his eyes and looks away quickly, continuing his brisk pace. “It’s not like I enjoy being here either, y’know?”  
  
“H-Hey Rick?" Morty trills, probably excited about a Morty with scales or a Rick wearing a top hat. _Geez this kid is easily impressed._ "Are there Morty police officers in the Citadel?”  
  
“Yeah proh- _errp!_ -obably, why?”  
  
“Just…th-th-that one’s dressed a little differently.” Morty gestures towards a figure that Rick isn’t interested enough to glance at. In truth, he hates being here almost as much as he imagines Morty does.  
  
Morties are lovable fools at the best of times. It's little wonder that so many Ricks tend to dote on them: accessorizing them, spoiling them, treating them like little pets.... But Ricks? Ricks are fucking animals.  
  
“Okay, this is the place. Huh. That’s weird.”  
  
“Aw Jeez. What’s weird Rick?” Morty asks nervously.  
  
“Nothing. J-Just reminds me of a place on earth where I used to hang out back when I was— _woah!_ ” The blood drains from Rick’s face. He isn’t sure what’s more disturbing: the fact that he is surrounded by pole-dancing doppelgangers of his underage Grandson or that their customers are all fucking Ricks.  
  
Fucking animals…  
  
“Hey, look Rick! Th-there’s the cop Morty I was pointing at before!” Morty says excitedly. “Huh. Wh-why’s he climbing up on that table…?”  
  
“Uh… O-on second thought, kid, y-y-you should wait outside.” Rick quickly stammers, hastily ushering Shy Morty out the door.  
  
“Oh. Okay. Um, s-see you, Rick.” Morty says dejectedly as Rick shuts the door in his face.

Rick breathes a sigh of relief as he turns away—pleased that he won’t be traumatizing the kid today—and proceeds to scan his seedy surroundings for his newest client.  
  
Looks like he’s not the only Rick with a _problem_.  
  
“L-Look-looking for a good time, sailor?” stammers a Morty in a cowboy hat. “One dance for thirteen flurb—”  
  
“Kid, I am not the lap you wanna dance on,” Rick says seriously. “Wh-where’s — _erp!_ —where’s your Rick?”  
  
Cowboy Morty grins. “Aw _jee_ _ee_ _z_ ,” he simpers, exaggerating the catchphrase, “y-y’know you could be my Rick. Just for a night. Wh-what do ya say?”  
  
Rick coughs awkwardly. “No thank you.”  
  
A jovial voice calls out Rick’s dimensional number and Rick spins on the spot to hastily make his way to his newest client.  
  
“Jeez,” he sighs, sliding into the booth, “wh-what the hell is this place?”  
  
“Don’t think about it,” the Rick with the scarred face and black shirt smiles at him. “Now, shall we get down to business?”  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Business done and dusted, Rick leaves The Creepy Morty, relieved beyond comparison that the ordeal is over and that he didn’t have to spend any more time in such a godless place.  
  
The Rick in the black shirt had worn an unwavering smirk throughout their encounter and it unnerved him to the core. A man should not sit that still and yet still look so at-ease. It reminded Rick of early Blips and Chitz arcade games where the characters would walk and act so stiffly in a mockery of human behaviour. There was just something a little uncanny valley about the man and it left Rick’s hair standing on end.  
  
And if that weren’t enough he kept finding himself being pawed at by Morty-doubles. Each one scantily clad in matching loin-cloths and bow-ties designed to draw attention to the boys’ crotches. The Morties were never obvious about it, of course, just the occasional brush of physical contact that was casually laughed off with a pubescent giggle.  
  
Rick can't lie to himself. Each doe-eyed boy made him think of his own boy outside and it wasn’t just because they were doppelgangers. The kids’ hands shook when they passed martini glasses to Rick’s black-shirted client, their eye-contact sporadic and wary, each boy showing the subtle tell-tale signs of someone who didn’t feel entirely comfortable displaying their still-growing body. A giggle, a wink, a smirk… they were poor masks for their obvious helplessness.  
  
Rick shudders and blinks with surprise when he steps out the front doors into the Citadel. The shadows of the surrounding buildings have grown long and the violet sky is now dotted with civil twilight stars. Evening swept in while Rick was inside and can’t help feeling a little impressed at the Citadel’s display. The way such unique bold colours could bleed into such muted tones… it reminded him of better times… of Glapflap's third moon…  
  
Rick takes a quick moment to clean his glasses on the lapel of his lab coat and looks around expecting to find the kid leaning against the wall of The Creepy Morty.

There’s no sign of him.

Rick's stomach sinks. How long was he inside?  
  
Stomach clenching, Rick turns this way and that, adjusting his glasses and scanning the streets. Yellow-shirts, young faces… but none of them belong to _him_.  
  
“Morty?” Rick calls out and decides he’s an idiot when several heads turn and look at him with mild surprise. What’s he supposed to do? Ask people if they’ve seen a timid-looking kid with dark hair and a yellow T-shirt? Rick starts walking up and down the street, worry gnawing at his gut like a parasite.  
  
What if someone took him? There’s no way he’s only Rick here with a contraband portal-gun. Shy Morty could be anywhere by now.

Worry writhes and morphs into barely-controlled panic and Rick breaks into a run. 

How could he have been so _stupid?!_  
  
Not far from The Creepy Morty, Rick rounds a corner and finds himself skidding to stop outside a small dive. There’s a Morty in there, Rick can see him through the window. His posture, dark hair, the way he’s nervously thumbing the rim of a pint glass, Rick catches a glimpse of a shy smile on the boy's smart profile…  
  
He’s not alone though. He’s next to a Rick with a stereotypical lab coat and a stylish scar around the circumference of his skull.  
  
Rick can’t believe just how small his boy looks next to his double and he can’t help wondering if that is how _they_ look together. He’s not slouching or shying away, but the Rick seems to tower over him and reduce him to nothing more than a small child. Rick isn’t sure what emotion roils within him when he notes how close they’re sitting. It's something low and jealous that grows monstrous when he watches the Rick reach out and rest his hand on the small of Shy Morty’s back.  
  
The Rick leans in close, as though he’s about to whisper something in the kid's ear…  
  
Rick is sprinting into the bar in an instant. Gun out—not the portal one—pointed straight at the Rick.  
  
Before anyone can retaliate, Rick has elbowed him in the nose, knocking him backwards. His hand is clasped around the other Rick’s jugular, the gun muzzle pressed brutally between his eyes. Point blank range. And pulling the trigger would feel _so_ fucking good…  
  
“Don’t you dare lay a hand on him!” Rick snarls.  
  
The other Rick struggles. “I wasn’t going to—”  
  
“Yes you were.” Rick hisses through gritted teeth. “Don’t even try to lie.”  
  
They glare at each other for one poignant moment. Both knowing, neither daring to say the words out loud.  
  
“Rick!” Morty cries. “Let him go! Come on! Stop!”  
  
Morty’s words snap Rick back to the present. This is the _Citadel_. Bad idea to start trouble here with their recent anti-weapon laws. Thankfully the neighbourhood is seedy enough for this to look almost normal but if someone were to spot the portal gun peeking out of his coat pocket…  
  
Rick drops the other Rick who lands in a crumpled heap on the sticky carpet of the bar. It’s undignified. It’s disgusting.  
  
It’s appropriate.  
  
“We’re leaving, Morty,” he seizes Morty’s arm more roughly than he probably should and yanks him from the scene. He stomps on the Rick’s hand—the one used to touch Morty—as they depart.  
  
As soon as they’re safely away from prying eyes, Rick fires the portal gun and practically flings Morty through it. He steps through afterwards to watch Morty stumbling into the garage, nearly tripping over his own feet. Rick turns away from him, biting his lip in frustration and silently willing himself to calm down.   
  
“What the hell Rick?” Morty snaps, rubbing his bruised arm. “W-What did you do that for?”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Rick says dismissively, pulling out a rag from beneath his workbench and anxiously cleaning his already-clean glasses.   
  
“No, no, I deserve an explanation!” Morty yells. “Wh-why’d you attack that Rick? We were just talking—”  
  
“Just _talking?!_ ” Rick shouts. He feels crazy with rage. Morty recoils but Rick’s too furious to care about the flicker of fear that shadows the boy’s face. “He touched you, Morty!”  
  
“So what?” Morty fires back. “He was just being friendly!”  
  
“‘Friendly’?” Rick scoffs. Before he can think, he grabs Morty’s arm again and yanks the boy to his chest. Morty makes a small noise in alarm which Rick ignores. “Does this seem like being ‘friendly’ to you?”  
  
His lips descend on Morty’s in a full-mouthed kiss.  
  
Morty is frozen solid. Rick’s heart is thudding at two hundred miles a minute. His mind whirring, his ears ringing, his knees feel weak…  
  
Oh god. What’s he doing? What’s he done?  
  
But then Morty’s lips begin to move, tentatively mouthing at Rick’s, his hands sneak around Rick’s back and pull him in closer.  
  
When their kiss finally breaks, Rick can’t bring himself to let go. He presses his nose and forehead to Morty’s while keeping a bruising grip on Morty’s arm. Rick shuts his eyes and breathes deep, savouring the scent of Morty’s shampoo. It happened. It finally happened.  
  
Beth will never forgive him.  
  
“Rick…” Morty breathes. His frail young voice vibrates over Rick’s lips. Rick knows he should pull away now, but instead his hands are splayed on Morty’s biceps and he’s massaging them gently. And Morty feels so good…  
  
This is getting too real. He can’t handle this. He needs a drink…  
  
Morty lifts his hand to tenderly trace the tips of his fingers over the lines on Rick’s face.  
  
Rick’s breath hitches, eyes fluttering open.  
  
It’s all too much. It’s too…  
  
“I’ve wanted you to do that for so long,” Morty murmurs. His eyes are low, all Rick can see his a hint of hazel beneath the boy’s dark lashes.

If only Rick were stronger.  
  
His lips lock with Morty’s once more and Morty is immediately addictively responsive. He traces his hands around Rick’s body, caressing clumsily but lovingly. Rick cups Morty’s jaw, angling his face up into the kiss, letting his tongue dart out and toy with Morty’s just briefly, just enough to taste…  
  
Morty lets out a muffled moan.  
  
The sound reverberates down Rick’s throat and he feels his pants grow uncomfortably tight. He shifts awkwardly, trying to avoid accidentally rubbing his sudden erection against the kid and scaring him off.   
  
But Morty won’t let up so easily, he crowds in on Rick and presses himself tightly against him.  
  
Rick's bulge scrapes Morty's hip. _He_ _has to feel it_ , Rick thinks worriedly a as though reading his thoughts, Morty is suddenly feverishly rubbing himself against him. Rick bites his lip and tries to hold it together. If Morty is any more persistent, Rick’s going lose control and possibly scar the poor kid for life.  
  
Morty makes a beautiful mewling sound and Rick wonders if he’ll come right there. The confines of his pants strain against the fabric, the friction there but not quite… enough.  
  
Then Morty cups Rick’s package and Rick can’t fucking _take it_ anymore.  
  
He wrenches himself away from Morty who makes a small noise in protest and holds him at arm's-length, carefully looking over him and memorizing each detail of his face knowing he may never see him like this again.

Morty’s eyes are brilliant and warm. His expression is earnest, welcoming… If Rick were any weaker, Morty would already be bent over his workbench with his pants ripped away from him.  
  
Rick sighs through his nostrils and clenches his jaw, cold resignation hardening beneath his ribcage.  
  
“Look, kid,” he says in as soft a tone as he can manage, “w-we’re not doing this in the garage. Go upstairs. I-I’ll meet you there in five okay buddy?”  
  
Morty opens his mouth to speak but Rick can’t let him. Hearing his voice will melt Rick’s resolve and it isn’t exactly solid as it is. Rick cups the boy’s jaw, and tenderly presses a thumb to Morty’s lips in order to shush him, he stands up straight and lets his hand trace down the side of Morty’s neck, feeling the kid’s pulse bounding rapidly beneath his touch.  
  
 _Sorry, kid._  
  
Rick nods to the door and Morty, obeying the silent order, reluctantly lets go of Rick’s lab coat. Rick watches him cross the garage, his gaze on the floor, his cheeks flushed a delicious shade of pink. And there’s that shy smile, tonight laced with cheekiness and anticipation.  
  
“Oh, uh, M-Morty?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Be—before you go…” Quick as lightning, Rick whips out the memory gun and fires it in the kid’s shocked face.  
  
Rick’s heart breaks.  
  
Morty blinks stupidly and he frowns for a moment, his brain catching up to the missed time.  
  
“What the fuck are you waiting for, you little turd? I told you to get lost so I can work!”  
  
“Jeez, Rick, fine. Whatever you say.” Morty huffs as he leaves the garage.  
  
“And shut the door be-be-behind you!”  
  
“Yeah I’ll do that!” Morty shouts back as the door slams.  
  
Rick stands alone in the garage. He looks down at the memory gun in his hands and then throws it into a corner of the room. He slumps down at his workbench, removes his glasses, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Sighing heavily, Rick leans down to bring out the vilest, most potent liquids he can find beneath his workbench, urgently removing the cap of the first beer with a screwdriver. 

  
Fuck everything.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Morty picks up another Mindblower and inserts it into the headpiece. Rick isn’t quick enough to stop him.  
  
He watches as Morty flashes back to another memory and tries to read the title.  
  
‘Watershark Park Tank’  
  
Rick probably named that one while drunk.  
  
Morty comes to and scowls at Rick. “Y-You’re the worst, Rick!” he splutters, “th-that was a fun day f-for me, and you took all that away because you pronounced Fish Guy’s name wrong? Who—who even does that?”  
  
“Well _gee_ Morty, it’s not like we have to go on adventures if you don’t want to!” Rick huffs.  
  
“Well what’s the point, Rick? What’s the point in going on adventures if I can’t re-remember them?” Morty blusters. “Who c-cares if you pronounced Fish Guy’s name wrong?”  
  
“Well obviously I do,” Rick says flatly.  
  
“Why would that even bother you?”  
  
“His name was Fish Guy, Morty!” Rick throws his hands up.  
  
“W-were you embarrassed?” Morty begins to laugh. “Why? It’s not like Fish Guy minded.”  
  
Rick turns around and quickly finds some spilled Mindblowers to busy himself with.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
“Morty…” Rick says in a warning tone. “Don’t you say what I think you’re gonna say!”  
  
Morty smirks in an uncomfortably familiar way. “Were you worried about what _I_ would think of you?”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Aw jeez Rick,” Morty grins. “It’s almost like you w-want me to think w-well of you or—or something.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Well if I wa _—_ _uhh—_ anted that, why would I erase this?”  
  
Rick shoves a Mindblower titled simply ‘morty_panic’ into the headset and Morty’s eyes go blank as he’s pulled into the memory.  
  
‘morty_panic’ is one of the tamer memories where Rick knows he’s painted in a shining light he doesn’t deserve. In this instance, Morty is swallowed by a giant Cromuranian slug. Luckily, he is wearing a headset at the time so Rick could provide instructions as to how to get vomited back up before the slug can digest him. Unluckily, the tight confined space and loud stomach sounds drive Morty into a blind panic and he couldn’t follow Rick’s instructions. Rick grabs his switchblade and cuts the slug open.  
  
Morty was never in any real danger but is still clearly relieved when Rick lifts him out. He is inconsolable though and clings desperately to Rick’s shirt, he’s covered in foul-smelling orange goo, weeping bitterly, and whimpering quietly under his breath. His eyes are wide and unfocused, as though his brain is a million miles away…  
  
Well what do you know? Alongside Morty’s other worrying quirks, he also suffers from claustrophobia.  
  
“Hey, hey, shhh… it’s okay Morty…” Rick comforts him. Morty is still snivelling as Rick gently carries him back to the ship. “M-maybe we’ll go somewhere a bit less wild next time, huh? J- _uhh_ st the two of us at a theme park, maybe? Somewhere where nothing w- _uhh_ nts to eat you.”  
  
Morty doesn’t look at him as Rick places him in his seat and buckles his seatbelt. The kid curls himself into a ball and hugs his knees, trembling. Rick watches him worriedly for a moment before making his way to the drivers’ seat.  
  
As they fly away from the scene, Morty gives a small hiccup and then suddenly sits upright, his eyes wide and his whole body stiff.  
  
“RICK!” he cries, his voice shaking with panic.  
  
“W-What is it, kid?” Rick turns to him and realizes with surprise that Morty’s clothes are disintegrating before his eyes. They’re burning away but leaving Morty’s skin, miraculously, unblemished. Morty is hastily covering himself, his face red.  
  
Rick looks away with a smirk.  
  
“Relax. I’ll make you some—some new pants before we get back,” he says in a deliberately flat tone. He looks pointedly straight ahead and tries very, very hard to keep his face bored and blank.  
  
But then Morty lets out a pained whimper, immediately drawing Rick’s attention.  
  
“Oh.” Rick coughs awkwardly. “Huh. Well… I guess I did hear that Cromuranian slug bile can work as a mild aphrodisiac but I thought it was—y’know—like h-homeopathy or… or crystal energy or kale being good for you or s-something, y’know Morty? I… I didn’t think it actually worked.”  
  
Morty glares at him, his face still red, while his hands unsuccessfully conceal his very erect penis.  
  
Rick clears his throat and looks straight ahead.  
  
“There are tissues in the glovebox, Morty. Just…uhh… w-wipe down the dashboard when you’re done.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Morty’s eyes sharpen back into focus and he looks at Rick.  
  
“Well—I a-assume you got rid of that memory because you thought I was embarrassed about getting a boner after being swallowed by Cromuranian slug,” Morty states, folding his arms.  
  
Rick sighs. “I got rid of that memory because I didn’t want you going around telling people I’m some sort of hero for saving you. I mean, jeez, I’ve—I’ve got a—a—r-reputation to maintain!” Rick waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t care about you being embarrassed. Pfft! Y-you get embarrassed for breakfast, kid.”  
  
“Yeah, kay, Rick. Whatever you say.”  
  
“You—y’know? It’s like… kid’s got an awkward boner? Ooh wow. Must be a day ending in Y!”  
  
“Alright, already! I’m fourteen, Rick. It’s kinda expected.” Morty rolls his eyes. “Wh-wh-what’s this one?”  
  
Morty picks up another mindblower and Rick's blood runs cold.   
  
"Hey, wait!"  
  


* * *

  
  
Rick has Morty hauled up against a wall in a dingy alley. His face is inches away. Rick’s breath ghosts over Morty’s lips. Their bodies are so close. Almost touching but not quite, not yet, Morty’s heart feels like a drumroll…  
  


* * *

Morty’s open-mouthed, shocked expression makes Rick want to die. His fingers close around another mindblower while Rick watches helplessly. He doesn’t even try to stop him anymore.  
  
“M-Morty I just…” Rick begins hopelessly.  
  
“R-Rick…” he says in a cracked voice. His face is pale. “You…”  
  
“I-I wasn’t going to!” Rick stammers desperately. “R-Really, kid! I wasn’t going to hurt you!”  
  
“You already did, Rick.”  
  
Rick feels like he’s been whipped.  
  


* * *

  
  
Rick is tenting totally inappropriately while Morty is in a bathing suit. Morty notices and Rick fires…  
  


* * *

  
  
Morty is trembling as he grabs another.  
  


* * *

  
  
Morty is masturbating into the kitchen sink when Rick walks in on him. Rick sips his beer and watches placidly, a perverted smile plastered on his face. When Morty comes he turns and sees Rick staring at him. They’re both silent for one excruciatingly long moment before Rick sprints to the garage for the memory gun.  
  


* * *

Morty is panting. He’s trembling. His eyes are wild and staring accusingly at Rick. He grabs another Mindblower.  
  
“M-Morty, slow down!” Rick orders.  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Rick!” Morty seizes another one and Rick wrestles it from him. With surprising agility, Morty ducks around Rick, grabs another, and rams it into the headpiece before Rick can stop him.  
  
  


His face pales when he reads the title: ‘The Creepy Morty.’

  
  
Rick only has time to whisper. “No… w-wait…” before Morty thrusts the Mindblower into the headpiece.  
  
His face goes blank once again and Rick watches helplessly as Morty remembers. Remembers the night he finally slipped…  
  
Morty’s eyes swim back into focus. He’s silent as he removes the headpiece in one slow, deliberate movement. He carefully avoids the shattered glass all over the tiled floor as he walks back to the chair and places it reverently back down on the side table.  
  
He looks up at Rick.  
  
“You kissed me.”  
  
It isn’t a question.  
  
“Yeah,” Rick confirms, forcing himself to look the kid in the eye. Lying isn’t an option but the memory gun still is. He just needs to get to it before Morty thinks of it…  
  
“You said you loved me,” Morty states next. His expression sharpens. “Then you took it back as soon as you’d said it.” Morty looks at the memory gun. ( _Shit._ ) “With that.” Morty looks accusingly up at Rick. “Why?” Morty whispers. “Why would you do that to me? If you love me, how could you violate my mind like that?”  
  
“Kid, listen…” Rick sighs. “Th-there are… r-rules, I guess…”  
  
“Oh, you can — you can fucking miss me with that, Rick!” Morty snaps. “You of all people don’t get to argue that there are rules!”  
  
“Well. I h-hate to admit it, you have me there,” Rick acknowledges, “I guess… In all my travels… after everything I’ve done… I still don’t want to be the pervert who molested his grandson.” Rick burps and for once covers his mouth politely. He swallows and feels how dry and cracked his mouth has become. _Christ Almighty,_ he needs a drink. “I’m sorry if that’s too out there for you to handle.”  
  
Morty averts his gaze and nervously rubs at the back of his neck.  
  
“Well… what—what if the grandson w-wanted it?” Morty suggests. “Y-y’know… all these different universes and possibilities. Th-there’s gotta be, like, a chance of that, yeah?”  
  
Rick Sanchez looks sadly at his naïve, doting sidekick.  
  
“In all possible universes, you are fourteen and I’m… _not._ ” He explains. “You’re too young to consent, kid. And I’m too manipulative and clever for it to be anything other than… than rape.”  
  
“SO WHAT?!” Morty yells, exasperated. “Wh-wh-what do y-you even care? Laws, right and wrong, ethics, _rules_ … Ricks don’t just cross those lines they play meta-metaphysical _jump rope_ with them!”  
  
Rick is sick to his stomach.  
  
Is that really what his grandson thinks of him? A villain so degenerate and evil he would resort to that? He can’t look at Morty knowing he would think of him that way. He stares dismally at the ground.

“I’m not… I’m not like those other a-holes out there, Morty.” Rick says softly.

“Wh-what? You’re like—” Morty’s eyes begin to glisten with tears. “The-the one _good_ Rick? The One _True_ Rick?”

“I dunno.” Rick shrugs honestly. It’s a phenomenon that has baffled him for years—ever since his first venture to the Citadel—how his interdimensional selves seemed to exist in such a stark contrast to himself.

They had all known tragedy and loss. Every Rick grieved. But unlike Rick, his doppelgangers wore their grief with _style._ At first, Rick admired it. Even attempted to replicate it. But when it came to pulling the trigger he couldn’t do it. He had the power to destroy worlds—entire civilised _galaxies—_ but when it came to following through he always took the coward’s way out. Instead of destroying, conquering, and using; Rick saved, spared, and protected.

That was why it was such a shock when Rick met his biological grandson.

Rick is a Rick. He’ll always be a Rick and that is his curse. A genius, a madman, maybe even something more. But his original Morty was something utterly inhuman. More Rick-like than even himself, his Morty managed to fit in naturally amongst the Ricks on the Citadel. He was disarmingly charming when he needed to be, but beneath that superficial charm Rick’s first Morty was cruel, callous, even—and Rick hated to use the term— _evil._

Rick looked into that child’s eyes and the abyss stared back. There was no fixing something that was already complete. There was no filling a cup that was already full. And Rick, being the least Rick-like Rick in the multiverse, only had the option of removing that Morty from his dimension in the most humane way possible…

Rick looks at the floor. “I’m just a different kinda Rick, I guess.”  
  
“Here.”  
  
Rick turns just in time to see Morty toss him the memory gun. Rick catches it one-handed and blinks down at it with surprise. “Wait, what…?”  
  
“You— y-you’re gonna use it on me anyway, right?” Morty’s face is unreadable, his eyes look dead. “Might as well get it over with.”  
  
Without a word, Rick points the gun at his sidekick.  
  
Morty squeezes his eyes shut.  
  
Everything seems to slow down and go still. There’s a ringing in Rick’s ears growing louder and louder. Morty stands before him. Rick should pull the trigger. Any other Rick would. Any second now…  
  
 _What have you done to me, Morty?_  
  
The gun clatters to the floor and Rick rushes forward. He throws his arms around Morty and hugs him close. Morty stiffens in surprise and then his knees go weak and he clings to Rick’s lab coat for support while they both sink to the floor. Rick doesn’t think he could let the kid go even if he wanted to.  
  
“R-Rick?”  
  
“Shh… it’s okay, kid, it’s okay!” Rick whispers. “I won’t take anything away again. I promise.”  
  
“I… I love you, Rick,” Shy Morty says softly. He nuzzles against Rick’s neck and Rick can feel how wet with tears Morty’s face is. “I always…” Morty sniffs, “I’ve always hoped you felt the same way,” Rick can feel Morty’s mouth curl into his shy smile.  
  
Rick’s heart is ripping in two.  
  
On the one hand, Shy Morty—the boy he’s fallen hopelessly in love with—actually feels the same way about him! Rick couldn’t have prayed for something so precious and undeserved.  
  
But on the other hand… the kid’s highly impressionable, young, and deserves better than an insidious relationship with a sick old man. Morty deserves to be with Jessica—or, hell, any of the girls in Morty’s class would be lucky to be with him—and then there’s Beth…  
  
Oh Beth…  
  
Rick inhales deeply, breathing in Morty’s scent. Morty's hands are moving; tentatively peeling back the lapels of Rick's lab coat and then resting comfortably on Rick's waist. He’s feeling Rick’s sides, reaching up to Rick’s ribcage—  
  
It’s intoxicating, addictive… It’s such a short way to fall…  
  
Fuck it. Fuck it all to Hell.  
  
"Kid..."  
  
Morty shakes his head vigorously and he anxiously fists the lapels of Rick’s lab coat. "No Rick. Pl-please don't tell me to go away—"  
  
"Hey, hey, I'm not." Rick takes Morty’s hands and holds them firmly in his own. "I just want us to take this upstairs. Th-that's all." Morty looks wary and Rick knows his trepidation is justified. "This time we’ll both go together," he grins and before Morty can protest or ask questions Rick grabs him around the middle and hauls him into a fireman's carry. Morty emits a surprised noise before Rick hears him giggle nervously.  
  
"Wh-what if my parents see, Rick?" Morty laughs as Rick carries him out of the garage and into the main house.  
  
"They're out," Rick smirks.  
  
"But what if—"  
  
"Memory gun."  
  
"Oh okay."  
  
Rick carries him up and out of the garage basement but instead of bringing the kid to his own room, Rick carries him to his own makeshift bedroom, kicking off his shoes before turning and playfully tossing the kid onto his cot.

Morty’s up in an instant and Rick can hardly breathe with how hastily Morty starts groping him. His kisses turn quickly from nervous to brutal, crushing his lips to Rick’s as he wrestles the lab coat from Rick’s shoulders. As though finding any clothing between them repulsive, Morty impatiently shucks off his own pants and hurriedly removes his shirt, throwing the unwanted garments aside.

As Rick removes his own shirt and wife-beater, he feels a sharp tug on his belt buckle and pauses awkwardly, looking down to see Morty's eyebrows knitted in frustration while Rick slowly removes his own clothes. Rick frowns, his hands lowering to gently hold Morty’s wrists.

“Hey, kid, just… slow down a little will ya?”

Morty's shoulders sag. “Oh. D-do you— do you not want—?”

“No! No I do! It’s just… we’ve got all night, Morty. You can relax a little y’know?”

Morty’s hands drop from Rick’s belt buckle and he nods, looking slightly embarrassed. Rick smiles fondly and removes his glasses, folding them carefully and placing them on the stack of research papers he's been using as a bedside table. He then traces his fingers up Shy Morty’s arms, over his shoulders, and carefully maps out the boy's collarbone with one hand while he runs his knuckles over the kid’s cheekbone, drinking in the sight of him, allowing himself the opportunity to properly sit back and admire the boy’s unique beauty.

“You really are something special aren’t you?” Rick murmurs, watching the way the golden halos around Shy Morty’s pupils seem to glow a little brighter.

“S-special?” Morty gives an incredulous half-smile. “B-But aren’t there infinite Morties?”

“There are.” Rick says quietly. “But you…” Rick rests a hand on one of Morty’s pert ass cheeks and pulls their bodies together, he leans in, his lips poised above Morty’s as he confesses, “but you... you are the sweetest Morty I have ever known." Rick's voice lowers. "And you are _mine._ ”

Morty shivers and Rick smiles wickedly. He presses a kiss Morty’s bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth, running his tongue over it before easing Morty’s mouth open and dipping inside, tasting him properly for the first time.

Morty’s tongue caresses Rick’s. It’s cautious at first before becoming a little more bold once again, but never losing its thoughtfulness. Rick wraps one arm around him while his other hand unbuckles his belt and he shimmies out of his slacks.

Morty is straddling him now, one hand trailing down Rick’s side in order to get to Rick’s underwear. Rick thinks about pulling away, concerned about potentially frightening the kid with just how hard he is already, but after briefly toying with Rick’s waistband, Morty seems to think better of it and instead places his hands on Rick’s shoulders, gently encouraging him to lie down.

Leaning up on his forearms, Rick watches as Morty gets off his lap and kneels down on the floor between his open legs.

“Can—” Morty begins but then falters. “Let me?”

“Kid…” Rick says uncertainly while Morty nervously massages his thighs. “I-If you’re sure…”

Morty gives a timid nod and with shaking fingers pulls down Rick’s underwear, fully exposing him.

Rick reclines on the cot, never taking his eyes off him as he positions himself to settle more comfortably in front of Rick’s erection, his small hands make Rick’s cock look even larger as they make themselves at home along Rick’s shaft, caressing and squeezing, becoming familiar with him. It’s a direct line to Rick’s ego which makes him throb even harder. Then Morty cups his balls and fixes him with an intense focus that steals the air from Rick’s lungs.

Rick is just about to tell Morty not to do anything that makes him uncomfortable but is rendered speechless when Morty suddenly wraps his lips around Rick’s member, almost swallowing him whole.

It was just as wet, warm, and— _fuck!—_ perfect as he’d imagined and what should have been words of encouragement dissolve into an animalistic growl as Morty’s tongue starts to do positively sinful things to Rick’s swollen cock; massaging along the underside with his talented tongue, dragging his lips back, and making the _filthiest_ of needful sounds as he does. Rick grits his teeth in earnest. Fighting the urge to start rutting into the kid’s hot mouth.

He wonders, with vague discomfort, how someone so young and virtuous could ever become so experienced at giving head. But when Morty gives a lustful sigh and squeezes Rick’s thigh, such dark thoughts are momentarily chased away. Rick notes the boy’s toes curling, his own member twitching excitedly beneath the satin of his boxers; clearly getting off on Rick's pleasure, and Rick grants himself permission to just relax and enjoy himself.

Morty’s head bobs up and down Rick’s length, inviting Rick’s cock deeper into his tight throat and Rick can’t fucking help it anymore. He digs his heels into the ground and thrusts wantonly into the inviting wetness of Morty’s mouth. He reaches out to gently cup the back of Morty’s head, entwining his fingers in Morty’s hair, petting him encouragingly.

“Keep going, babe.” Rick praises softly. “Yeah...just— just like that. Doing so _good_... D-Don’t push yourself, alright?”

Morty pulls himself off Rick’s cock and clasps it firmly in one fist, fixing Rick with a dark determined gaze while eagerly lapping the heavy drops of ejaculate from Rick’s slit.

Rick curses under his breath.

That… _look._

Rick’s breath stills and he finds himself unable to see straight. The world has fallen away to something blurred and unimportant and he can only focus on the skilled ministrations from the boy currently bowed between his thighs.

“Oh fuck _yes_ …” Rick sighs and if he thought this couldn’t get better he was sorely mistaken. Morty plunges down again, swallowing Rick’s cock down to the hilt, his nose and lips now buried in Rick’s pubic hair, his throat working to fit snugly around Rick’s length.

Rick’s hips jump clear off the bed with a choked “Fucking hell kid!” He knows he won’t last much longer and even if Morty can deep throat him like a pro, he doesn’t want to force this into something too much for the kid to handle.

“Morty, _shit,_ babe, I’m gonna come…” Rick gasps. Reaching down to Morty’s shoulder in order to nudge him off. But Morty stubbornly stays put and keeps working him. Rick would have given him more warning but his body won’t let him hold out any more. Rick’s abdominal muscles contract and he almost jumps off the mattress as he spills himself into the kid’s waiting throat.

But it doesn’t end there. Morty seems determined to give Rick the ride of his life and forces his mouth somehow even further up Rick’s length, completely burying his face in Rick’s groin, throat constricting desperately order to drink him down.

“Holy— _fucking hell,_ Morty!” Rick groans at the sensation, shooting load after load into the boy’s perfect mouth.

After finally emptying himself, he feels Morty slipping his mouth off his cock and shivers as the cool air hits his sensitive flesh. Morty is on him still, his well-practiced tongue licking him clean while one hand rests upon Rick’s stomach, little fingers playfully toying with Rick’s happy trail. Rick can’t help the way his stomach flutters in appreciation, the way his spent cock twitches in interest at the boy’s seemingly unending display of idolatry, or the way his heart breaks a little when he looks at how small Morty's hand is.

When Morty finally sits back and Rick notices the way he's earnestly licking his lips, as though savouring the taste of him. The fluttering feeling in Rick's chest begins to feel like a steady pleasurable _burn._

“I did—didn’t hurt you did I?” Rick asks quietly.

Morty shakes his head. He clears his throat with a wet-sounding cough that has no right to be that hot and then gives Rick a bright smile. “N-No.”

“Good.” Rick lies back down again, one arm rested casually behind his head, and gives a satisfied smile. “Come here.”

Morty obeys, crawling up Rick’s body in order to snuggle against him. Rick lowers his hand to Morty’s hip and rolls them both over so they’re facing each other. Rick kisses him then. It’s something slow, soft, and surreptitious. Something for just them. He can taste his own come on the kid’s soft lips.

Morty’s hands are on Rick again. Touching his face, his waist, his behind… the kid’s getting confident and it’s more than enough to make Rick want him all over again.

Reaching down, Rick dips two fingers into the waistband of Morty’s boxers and pulls them down.

Morty makes a small anxious noise when he does and Rick smiles as he kisses him docile. He reaches out, running soft fingers up the soft sensitive skin of Morty’s inner thigh, inching towards the swollen morsel of flesh that stands to attention between the kid’s legs.

Morty breaks away from him then, emitting a gasp.

“I wanna make you feel good.”

Morty’s eyes widen for a moment but then flutter closed as Rick fists him, pumping his cock slowly but firmly, forming a rhythm that has Morty keening for more.

The boy’s cock throbs and he thrusts his pelvis into Rick’s hand. Rick grins to himself and nuzzles Morty’s nose.

While Rick concentrates on working him, he doesn’t notice Morty moving until small hands are wrapping around his own length and enticing him forward. Rick goes where Morty directs him and then lets out an obscene groan when Morty makes their tips touch.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, kid,” Rick growls as he holds both erect cocks in one hand and begins jerking them together. There’s an obvious size difference between them and it should not be that hot to look down upon it.

With Morty’s saliva and the steady flow of precome coating the both of them, Rick begins thrusting into his own fist, bringing himself closer and carrying the kid with him. Morty locks his arms around Rick’s neck and gives a pleasured moan, his eyes opening to look up at Rick. Huge hazel eyes shining with lust, meeting Rick’s own and staring into him—silently begging for more.

Rick can’t take it anymore and lets loose once again. With a lewd grunt, he ejaculates over them both and Morty squeezes him closer, placing feverish kisses into Rick’s sternum.

After his second climax, Rick abandons his own length in order to stroke Morty, offering gentle encouragements into his ear as he guides him. He reaches around to cup the boy’s tight behind, clasping him flush against him. Morty responds with a soft needful noise and buries his face in Rick’s chest, hugging him tight as his body temperature rises. Rick rests his chin on the top of Morty’s head as he holds him, the boy’s burning erection pressed tight against both their bellies while Rick continues to slick it up with his come, bringing him closer to the precipice.

“Rick…” Morty whimpers quietly. “I—I’m close.”

Rick leans in to nibble at the boy’s ear. “Yeah?” He whispers. “You gonna come for me babe?”

But to Rick’s surprise, Morty shakes his head. He can’t see his face but feels the kid’s eyebrows knit together in concentrated resistance.

“I don’t want to.”

Rick frowns.

“Morty?” Rick immediately ceases stroking the kid’s length and instead places a hand on his back, holding him.

“D-don’t make me.”

Morty is shaking and Rick strokes his back soothingly. “Hey, hey, shhh… What’s wrong?”

“J-Just… please don’t make me,” Morty’s voice is muffled against Rick’s chest. “He used to make me.”

Rick is at first confused but then it hits him.

  
  


“ _H-he gave me my first... my first…"_

  
  


Rick’s heart hardens and the hair on his arms bristle at the sobering realization _._ A First like that shouldn’t leave someone trembling in fear or shame.

Morty squirms, making a small noise in discomfort and Rick immediately loosens his hold on him. Sighing out his anger and forcing himself calm, Rick repositons Morty against him, placing a knuckle beneath the kid’s chin he tilts his face up so he can look him in the eye.

“Kid, l-l-listen to me,” Rick says in a tone that is still tainted with more ferocity than he would like. “I will _never_ make you do anything like this if you don’t want me to, understand? You’ll never be forced—” Rick can’t finish that sentence without seeing red so he ends with: “If you say no, I’ll stop. Every time. Promise.”

Morty sniffles and nods. “Okay.”

Even though the atmosphere in the room has changed with Morty’s distress, he’s still hard; his cock stiff and hot against Rick’s stomach. And Rick looks at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. It can’t be comfortable…

“You— uh— you don’t have to sleep here tonight,” Rick reassures him. “If… if you don’t want to.”

Morty sniffs and actually smiles.

“N-No, I want to stay.” Rick’s chest lightens and he tries to keep his face from betraying his elation. _God,_ he’s as bad as a fucking teenager with a crush. “But, um, Rick?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“D-Do you mind if I t-take care of myself first?”

“Oh! Y-Yeah, g-go ahead.” Rick stammers clumsily. “Wh-whatever you— um… go do what you need to do. I’ll be here.”

Rick removes his hands from Morty and positions them behind his head while rolling nonchalantly onto his back. He smiles at him in a way that he hopes isn’t as awkward as he feels. _See?_ his posture says. _Everything’s cool._ _Not forcing anything._ _You’re allowed to leave if you want._

Morty sits up and looks at Rick warily. Rick raises a casual eyebrow at him. Confused but still comfortable.

But then, not taking his eyes off Rick, Morty wraps a hand around his own engorged cock and begins silently pleasuring himself.

Oh… _Oh!_ Rick is too slow to mask his surprise. _That’s_ what the kid meant. He didn’t mean a shower or to brush his teeth he meant… release.

If he hadn’t already come twice, Rick’s own dick would have been hard as ever watching Morty pleasure himself right next to him. Even without a hard-on, he’s salivating and having to grit his teeth. It’s all he can do to resist reaching out and putting his hands on the kid.

But Morty made it obvious that he isn’t ready for someone else’s touch to bring him to orgasm. And in an odd way, Rick understands even if he can’t personally relate. The loss of control behind an orgasm was usually part of the appeal, at least for him. But for someone who had experienced that control being ripped away from him instead of freely given, Rick can see how such pleasure could only remind him of pain.

A part of Rick is sickened. That someone with _his_ face and _his_ hands would damage someone so innocent and ruin something so pleasurable… it was nothing short of revolting. And Morty would have been only— what, twelve? Thirteen? _Younger? —_ when that bastard touched him.

_(Oh? Says the man with a fourteen year old in his bed. Like you’re any different.)_

But that part of him is soothed with the humbling knowledge that despite receiving comparatively little physical pleasure himself, Morty still wanted to satisfy him.

Rick just hopes that their relationship does not remain a one-way thing.

Morty lets out a pained whimper as he comes before panting softly and closing his eyes. Rick watches him passively, noting the way his shoulders heave and his fingers grip the sheets before eventually relaxing. He cautiously reaches out to him and holds Morty’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. Morty turns to him in surprise and Rick brings it to his lips in order to kiss the pulse of Morty’s wrist.

“If you’re ever ready, kid,” Rick says quietly. “I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, I _know_ I said the dark parts are coming but I looked at these events and started dividing them into chapters I was like... _nah_. Not _yet_. 
> 
> A couple of notes on me: I am, once again, very sorry if I don't respond to your lovely comments. I often want to just because I want you to know just how moved I am by all of your unwavering support. But I am unfortunately very shy and I often just don't know what to say because I'm a bit overwhelmed. Please understand that I do read and appreciate every single comment you guys say to me. When I've had a bad day, I often go back and reread what you've all written to me and it makes me feel better.
> 
> The other note is a sad one. Unfortunately I have been very unwell for the past few months and I am only just improving now. No, it isn't Covid-19, it's parainfluenza with exacerbated symptoms that turned into something worse. This is especially bad because I am pregnant. I am at home at the very least but that's mostly because the hospital is pretty full at the moment and I shouldn't really be around sick people at the moment.
> 
> Oh! And before I forget, I finally made a Twitter account: https://twitter.com/snow_rayne  
> Come say hi!


	9. Gepetto III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter in the series thus far. Courtesy Warnings for the usual problematic tropes. Dead Dove 'n all that. Mind the tags.

I've got strings  
But entre nous  
I'd cut my strings for you

— Dickie Jones, "I've Got No Strings"

* * *

Morty’s expression sharpens and the light from the muted television catches his eyes. A trick of the light—or maybe Rick’s own feverish mind—makes them flash with gold.

Rick threw his facade to the side sometime between the first time _(when he sent his most recent projects clattering to the garage floor and laid Morty down on the workbench)_ and the second _(Morty on his hands and knees_ _in what he now considers to be_ their _bedroom_ _)_ and now, without the veil of false morality, Rick lets himself love Morty in the flesh. Anytime. Any place.

...So long as the rest of the family are absent.

Tonight, with their privacy guaranteed thanks to a few well-timed phone calls, Rick reclines on the couch, lazily allowing his boy to ride him.

Morty is a surprisingly satisfying lover.

He’s all hard edges these days—hungry eyes and clutching, bruising hands—like Rick will disappear if he doesn’t cling tight enough. And in return, Rick contrasts his brutality with reassuring tenderness. A rough grip on Rick’s bicep is returned with a warm hand on Morty’s back. A needful bite is met with a gentle kiss. And, as always, Rick respects Morty’s boundaries: allowing the little guy to rip his clothes off and pin him to the couch but still refraining from touching him in the way he _really_ wants...

 _Not until he’s ready,_ Rick reminds himself and keeps his hands on Morty’s thighs where Morty can safely see them.

With a dreamy sigh, Morty bounces a couple of times and then stops. He slows himself down, carefully easing Rick’s cock in and out of himself in long languid movements, clenching artfully in the way he knows Rick likes.

“ _Fucking hell_ kid!” Rick moans. “Fuck _me,_ that feels good.”

Morty stops again and pauses just long enough for Rick to properly look at him. Rick notes the way Morty’s gaze lowers, the way he worries his bottom lip nervously as though weighing up a difficult decision. Then, timidly, still not meeting Rick’s eye, Morty plucks one of Rick’s hands from his thigh and guides it to his waiting erection.

Rick almost can’t believe this.

Is Morty really going to let him?

Morty wraps Rick’s fingers around the his twitching erection and then lets go, he resumes bouncing on Rick’s cock, though he seems to pointedly avoid Rick's gaze.

Rick takes the cue and begins pumping him. Morty makes a strained frightened sound that makes Rick's chest tighten and Rick squeezes Morty's hip in reassurance.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Morty nods.

They keep going. Rick’s orgasm soon closes in on them both and suddenly Rick is coming into Morty’s ass. Morty’s eyes widen in alarm. He lets out an anguished cry and spills himself all over Rick’s chest and stomach. He squirms in discomfort as though a part of him is still fighting for control.

Rick’s heart swells with affection. _It’s okay, babe. Let it happen._

The orgasm fully overtakes Morty and Rick can't help his proud smile as the muscles in Morty's neck visibly tense, his moans meeting a crescendo.

When it’s over, Morty’s body visibly sags. He places a hand on Rick’s chest in order to hold himself upright while he continues gasping for breath. They are both shimmering with stale sweat and Morty’s seed, which will no doubt feel awful when it cools, but Rick’s dealt with far worse. 

Before Rick can reach out to him, Morty pulls himself off of Rick and sits back on his ankles, the small of his back pressed against the arm of the sofa, his face in shadow.

Rick hears a muffled sob and he sits up immediately.

“Morty?”

When he nears him he sees tears glistening down Morty’s cheeks.

“Hey, you okay?” Rick places a hand on Morty’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

Morty shakes his head and wraps his arms around himself as though literally trying to hold himself together. He’s panting and trembling, hugging himself tight. On cue, Rick holds out the palm of his hand. Morty draws in a shuddering breath and places his own hand on Rick’s outstretched palm. The technique never fails and Rick smiles fondly as he watches Morty relax.

“C’mere,” Rick murmurs, repositioning himself into a normal seated position, wrapping an arm around Morty and guiding him onto his lap. He holds Shy Morty snugly against his chest and runs his hand up and down Morty’s shaking back. “Little intense, huh?”

Amid Morty’s trembling, he sighs and nods, then gifts Rick his signature shy smile by way of reassurance. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn't have to.

Rick kisses the top of his head and hums contentedly while they sit there; his boy nestled safely in his arms. He watches Morty's dark eyes slowly close, listens close as his uneven breaths deepen into a slow rhythm. Eventually, Rick feels his boy relax into a peaceful sleep.

Rick, as per usual, remains painfully awake. The afterglow has always left Rick with an ugly cold feeling and tonight is no exception. He switches the TV off mute and tries to distract himself.

“Hey it’s— it’s _Butt In Real Estate_ set in the Hamster In Butt World…uh…place. Yeah.”

It has been one week since Morty handed his virtue to Rick and Rick couldn’t stop himself from taking it. He didn’t just fall from grace—he fucking leapt.

“Is it time for a change? Upsizing? Downsizing? We’ve got so many… so many human butts for you to live in and our agents boast a capped commission rate.”

And yet.

He does not regret a thing.

“Call today and find the butt that defines you!”

There is only one thing Rick wants more than love. And that is vengeance.

“Tonight we see Rhymenocerous and Hip-hoppopotamus versus the racist crows from Dumbo in the biggest smash rap battle of 2014.”

Rick changes the channel, trying to chase away the feeling. He looks down at Morty’s sleeping face. He looks so young like this…

“You’ve heard of—of invisibility belts, now get ready for _extra_ visibility belts! The only belt that makes you _extra_ visible. Now you see him, now you see him ...even more!”

Every night he finds himself thinking about it: Tracking down the son of a bitch who would do such a vile thing to such an innocent soul. But he always chases the urge away with a swig from his flask or even just cuddling Morty a little closer. But tonight… somehow tonight is different.

Rick _thought_ it would be out of his system once Morty trusted him enough to help him accomplish orgasm. But instead, the thirst is mounting stronger than ever. He imagines revenge, imagines something violent and brutal, imagines the _satisfaction…_

He switches off the television and carries Morty upstairs. Gently laying him down in their bed and tucking in the bed covers around him to keep him warm. He places a kiss to Morty’s forehead.

"I'll be back by morning," Rick promises before exiting the bedroom and making his way to the garage.

He has a mission tonight, and it's an ugly one. He will not be informing Morty about this particular adventure until after it is completed.

Rick adjusts his portal gun.

Tonight, he will repay a debt to the boy who has given him so much and asked for nothing in return.

Rick steps through the glowing swirls of green into his counterpart’s garage.

_Someone will pay._

* * *

Shortly after Morty's fourteenth birthday, Rick starts cooking meals for the family. Beth is over the moon.

"Well," Rick says with a charismatic shrug, "with the way you put up with me, c-cooking a few meals is least I could do!"

"Should be cooking us a whole restaurant," Jerry mutters.

"Nonsense!" Beth smiles. "We're all just... _so_ grateful."

Beth's eyes are swimming with gratitude though she doesn't dare draw attention to the obvious change in the household. Morty, instead of making her skin crawl every time he enters the room, has transformed into a whole new person. It's as though Rick rewired the monster he once was into a healthy happy teenager. Sure, his grades weren't what they once were and he isn't as interested in—what did he call it?— _brainwave shielding_ , but he is now someone Beth may be able to bring herself to love. 

She looks at her son fondly and Morty smiles in return. 

She pauses for a moment. Were his eyes always that colour? 

* * *

Morty can't really complain.

His mother is obviously grateful to have had a night off cooking each week for the past few months and her cheeriness has significantly lightened the atmosphere of the house. Everyone else enjoys the meals Rick prepares, even Jerry admits they taste good even though his own bitterness towards Rick is almost tangible these days. 

But to Morty, each mouthful may as well be poison. The food leaves a chalky bitter aftertaste that makes his throat constrict and his saliva glands pump furiously. He dismisses it as a texture sensitivity and refrains from drawing attention to it, but there's no pretending that family dinners are becoming increasingly difficult.

He also doesn't mention how dizzy he feels every time Rick cooks. He wasn't sure it was the food at first, but after the first three times he is fairly confident that something in Rick's cooking is making him feel sick. 

Morty takes another spoonful of slow-cooked lamb stew and blows on it.

"Oh? You've only got a small bowl Morty," Beth notes.

Morty blinks. 

"Oh. Uh...haha. Yeah, I... I'm not that hung—"

But before Morty can finish the sentence, Rick is ladling another serving into his bowl with a jovial grin that is bordering on sinister. 

"Growing boy should be eating more," Rick teases and Morty wilts.

"Yeah, okay." Morty replies and he digs in, trying hard not to wince.

The dinner conversation dissolves into a drawn-out hum while Morty's concentration wanes. Everything feels sort of... fluffy. His eyelids droop and it's all he can do to stop himself from falling asleep with his head in the stew.

"Uh oh!" Morty hears Rick laugh. "Looks like someone had a bit of a big day."

"Son?"

"Morty?"

"Don't worry," Rick reassures them. "I-I'll get the little guy off to bed. C'mon, Morty."

Rick's hand is under Morty's elbow, guiding him up and away from the table.

The next thing Morty remembers is his head hitting the pillow.

* * *

Heart, body, soul... Morty gave Rick every part of himself.

It isn’t enough.

  
  


They make love only on only a handful of occasions before Rick stops holding him afterwards. He gives Morty a bored look and then returns to the task at hand, leaving Morty cold and exposed and dirty.

As Morty pulls up his pants he looks over at Rick's back.

Rick is still fully clothed. He only unzipped his fly to fuck him; and the way he unceremoniously shook his dick when he finished and zipped himself up again reminded Morty of someone going to the bathroom.

He tells himself his feelings aren’t hurt. That mentioning it will just be a form of unnecessary emotional blackmail and his Rick deserves better than that. Choosing not to draw attention to himself, Morty pulls his shirt back on and leaves the garage in silence.

* * *

Morty's not stupid. The man with the blue shirt and gold rimmed spectacles used to embrace him lovingly and even now, even with his detached demeanor and brutal efficiency, Rick can still set Morty's soul alight with nothing more than a look.

The man’s boredom and restlessness must stem from his own faults and so Morty desperately tries to correct them.

  
  


It just makes things worse.

  
  


“Morty, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I… I just thought you might like it if… if… if… we tried… I dunno? something different...”

“What part of ‘I don’t bottom’ don’t you fucking understand, you little creep?”

“Aw jeez, Rick. I… I’m sorry.”

Rick rolls his eyes and fires the portal gun. “Yeah. That’s what I fucking thought.”

Rick leaves without a word, once again on another solo adventure. Morty is left behind more and more these days. Rick only deigns to bring him if he desperately needs his brainwaves for something specific. As a result, their missions have become a lot more dangerous. Gone are the days of surreal dream-like adventures to planets where it snowed ice cream or rained lemonade, now there is only Gromflomites and the Citadel and a place Rick and Morty like to call M C Escher World. 

They are no longer dreams, they are inescapable nightmares, and if Morty weren't such a sentimental little idiot, he would be grateful to have another afternoon off. 

But as risky as these adventures have become, Morty is still desperate to feel included. The need to be needed plagues Morty like an unsatisfied addiction. 

"I'm sorry." 

Morty whispers his apology once more to the empty garage that is still so crowded with Rick's presence. 

He isn't even sure what he is apologizing for anymore. But in apologizing for nothing, he can convince himself he is apologizing for everything.

* * *

Morty keeps waking up feeling sore. 

He isn't sure if he should tell someone. His sphincter sometimes hurts as well as other places. Sometimes he sees bruises. 

The food Rick cooks is getting worse. It no longer tastes chalky, it has a near-acidic taste that makes Morty want to retch. He eats it regardless, not daring to explore the repercussions caused by pushing away his plate.

Then one evening he wakes up and he isn't in his bed. He's in the garage hooked to an ECG machine with a needle in his chest. As the scenery around him spins slower and eventually stops, Rick's voice gradually becomes clearer.

"You sadistic sonofabitch!" Rick snarls. "Y-y-you fucking— h-how could you fuck up the dose like that? How?"

Morty blinks away the haze and tries to sit up. His head spins painfully and he flops back down again.

"I nearly lost him tonight! ... Yeah? Yeah, well maybe if you don't feel like administering the correct dose, I don't feel like cooperating anymore! No? No!"

Morty frowns. When he turns his head to look, there's no one in the room except Rick who is standing with his back to him, furiously scribbling on his whiteboard. 

"Look, just be more careful. That's all I ask." 

"Rick?"

"Shit!"

Rick whirls around and then runs to Morty, hands fluttering over him and a frightened look on his face which quickly disappears to be replaced with something sharper. 

"What happened?"

"Nothing too serious," Rick answers matter-of-factly. 

"But..." Morty glances down at the needle in his chest. "Why is—?"

"Let's get you back to bed," Rick dismisses coldly, helping Morty to his feet. He abandons Morty at the foot of the stairs and Morty groggily makes his way back to his room, one hand tightly gripping the banister. 

* * *

The adventures are no longer risky.

They're downright terrifying.

Morty would do everything in his power to preserve his own life while Rick would watch on, flask in hand and an indifferent look on his tired face, while Morty ran full-pelt back to the ship or fought with everything he had to preserve his own worthless life. Morty always made it _somehow._ But that disdainful impatient look on Rick's face when he threw himself into the ship always made Morty wonder why he bothered.

On one adventure, Morty is too tired, too distracted, too... _himself._ And he gets sloppy. After narrowly avoiding bullets and lasers, Morty trips and almost dies.

“Rick! I’m b-bleeding!”

“Yep. That usually happens when you let a Gorpflack try to juice you. Hand me those crystals would you?”

The world is spinning.

“I...I think I need to go to the hospital.”

“Suck it up, champ. Those crystals are worth dijillions on the black market. Congratulations, Morty, you just made us both stinking RICH baby!”

“Rick...”

“Morty. Crystals. Now.”

“Rick… I… I’m sorry...”

Morty’s face falls. The stain on his shirt is deepening to a darker shade of red. His vision blurs with tears. He tastes copper and salt and feels the urge to retch. He didn't know his own blood could smell so bad...

  
  


“You fucking dropped them?!”

“I-I’m hurt. The Glorpflack was going to—”

“I don’t fucking CARE you useless little shit!”

The pain of Morty's wound has left him numb to everything else but the words still sting like salt on broken skin. 

Rick doesn't care.

Morty is useless. 

"I-I-I'm sorry," Morty groans with pain. 

_Sorry for being useless._

_Sorry for dropping the crystals._

_Sorry for getting hurt._

_Sorry for everything._

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Pull a stunt like that again and you won’t have any fucking time to regret it!”

“Oh jeez! Oh my god, Rick! Please!”

It's night. Rick is pressing a sharp knife against Morty’s sore throat. Morty gulps. The movement causes a stinging sensation against his skin.

He’d been in bed. Asleep and away from Rick. He has no idea what he has done this time. But he knows better than to ask.

“I’ll kill you!”

“PLEASE Rick!”

“I’ll kill the whole family! ALL of them.”

“Rick!”

Rick’s face contorts into a sneer.

“I’ll kill you, then replace you, you little shit. I can get another Morty faster than I can get new brake lights. So you might wanna try a little harder not to piss me off, understand?”

“I understand. P-please don’t...”

Rick chucks the knife away before curling up against Morty on the bed, wet alcohol-drenched kisses press into Morty’s face and neck. Cruel tickling hands worm underneath his shirt, into his boxers. Morty suppresses a shudder but cannot bring himself to say no or to push Rick away. 

Morty still remembers that look of righteous anger on the man's face when he told him what his previous Rick did to him. 

Restless, angry, drunk, and consumed with desire; Rick still isn't a rapist. And Morty knows that means the moment he tells Rick _no_ or asks Rick to stop, then its all over. Rick will no longer enter his room at night, no longer touch him or look at him. 

And who will love Morty then?

Years will pass before Morty will admit to himself that sex with Rick has become something revolting. But tonight, he shuts his eyes and reminds himself that Rick is a complicated man. That he probably had a rough day and doesn't realize what he's doing. Sure, his temper has been a little erratic lately, but that's just because he's been so busy and so sleep-deprived. 

"Lube." 

It's a demand devoid of emotion and Morty sends his belongings clattering to the floor in his haste to retrieve the tube from his nightstand. Rick chuckles at the display and Morty inwardly cringes. His urgency does not stem from enthusiasm but rather from the fear that if Rick is ever particularly randy and impatient he will simply fuck him dry. 

"Get your boxers off."

Morty does so while Rick slicks up his fingers. When he gets into position on his stomach Rick immediately begins prepping him.

The act is brusque and methodical, devoid of care. As though Rick were simply lubing up machinery. And even worse is the ghostly memory of the way Rick used to touch him. The way Rick used to set his nerves on fire and have Morty screaming with ecstasy. The way he kept his hands where Morty could see them, nurturing trust and confidence until Morty took that final plunge...

Now, Morty always turns away when Rick fucks him, barely able to look at the man who used to make him feel so treasured. 

He hears the jingle of Rick's belt being removed and bites back a whimper.

* * *

"And what exactly does a rapist look like, Beth?"

"Jerry... just—just listen to yourself! My Dad would _never_ do something like that!" 

Morty keeps his distance at the top of the stairs, listening intently to the argument escalating between his parents.

Someone is going to leave tonight. It will either be Jerry or it will be Rick. Morty isn't sure which one he would miss more.

All he knows is he isn't surprised when the following morning, his father's car is missing and Beth is having wine with breakfast.

* * *

Rick watches his fist as it flies out to the collide with Shy Morty’s already-bruised face. The kid is crying and while every instinct within Rick wants to scoop him up and hold him, his limbs act of their own accord and continue to reign vicious blows upon the small body before him.

Ever since his visit to Shy Morty’s original Rick, life has been like this. Still unaware of who exactly placed the black bag over his head and shot him full of sedatives, Rick knows someone from that dimension is pulling his strings. He assumes the obvious and mentally curses both their names.

Ricks are _animals._

Morty whimpers when a firm kick is aimed at his belly.

“Wh-what did I do…?” Morty gasps.

“You know what you fucking did you little shit!”

Rick wants to scream, but the nerve filaments wrapped around his head and into his eyes and mouth morph his voice into a bark of cruel laughter. Mercifully, he turns away and walks like a puppet to his workbench, yanking out different devices, beakers, test tubes...

The puppeteer has one clear goal: He wants a Rick that goes by the Dimensional Number of C-137. Rick himself knows the man by reputation alone. C-137 is not just a rogue Rick, he's _The_ Rogue Rick: erratic, dangerous, and as passionate as he is unpredictable. There are entire universes that fearfully whisper his names:

_"The Rogue" "The Chaos" "The Unstoppable Force" "The Man In White"_

The purpose for him is unclear, though Rick has his suspicions. The puppeteer uses Rick’s eyes to scour the databases, ranking the Rick’s in some arbitrary of order of nefariousness for some foul plan.

Rick would laugh if his mouth weren’t full of those evil tendons that constrict painfully if he tries to speak out of turn.

This Rick thought morality could be measured and ordered on some kind of infallible bell-curve. It was ranking Ricks. It was after certain ones in particular.

Rick wants to ask him why it killed the Scientist Formerly Known as Rick, the Rick-King, Ricky Mercury, and Ricky Stardust.

“You can’t sing, can you?” Rick forces himself to state out loud.

His spine immediately stiffens and Rick turns to observe where Morty has passed out in the corner.

The puppeteer punches him with Rick’s own fist, causing Rick’s lip to split. Blood drips down onto the lapels of his lab coat. His outward appearance is that of a cold cruel man, but inside he laughs.

Inside, the puppeteer is powerless.

* * *

By now, Rick understands.

He knows that when he steps out of line, the roots that have infiltrated his muscles will constrict and force him to comply before eventually walking him into the garage to further inflict more punishment.

Rebellion is a risk to his own flesh.

He understands

...And chooses rebellion anyway.

And sometimes, by some miracle, he manages to break through.

Rick has realized he can time it. It only seems to happen in the evenings, between nine o’clock and midnight, for around an hour and only if Rick is alone. His muscles are no longer constricted and he is able to speak for himself. The unseen puppeteer responds, using Rick’s hands to write in a handwriting Rick cannot recognise, complete with spelling errors that Rick would never make. It is an eerie feeling, communicating with the demon that is possessing him, but in what little scrap of autonomy he has, Rick is able to investigate the motives and character of his unknown master.

But, even still, the puppeteer is more interested in vile taunts, reminding Rick—and subsequently Morty—of their place in amongst the chaos.

Until the night Morty is injured.

The puppeteer had used Rick’s voice to scold and abuse the boy and it ripped Rick apart to see the poor kid tear up at the cruel words that fell from his own mouth.

He watches him that evening as the boy nudges food around his dinner plate with one hand clasped firmly to his side.

“Morty?” Beth asks.

Morty doesn’t move. He doesn’t even seem to hear her.

“Morty? Honey…” she tries again. “Are you feeling alright?”

Nothing.

“Do you have a cramp?” she asks thoughtfully, noting the way the boy is clutching his side.

Morty nods and Beth returns to her meal, satisfied.

“Oh that’s no good, there are some stretches you can do for that just so you know,” Beth says with disinterest.

That’s no cramp. Rick can see blood soaking through the boy’s shirt from here. But he knows that even if Beth can see it, she won’t acknowledge it. The unspoken agreement between the two of them being simple and plain as ever: _Do whatever you want, just don’t leave again._ …Even if her own son is the price to be paid.

Rick would be disgusted if he weren’t so exhausted.

That night, when there is another lull in the puppeteer’s control, Rick sprints upstairs and into Morty’s bedroom. The boy is asleep though his face is still pinched in pain.

Rick doesn’t know if the puppeteer will seize control again once he finds out what he is doing so he moves fast. Feeling like a pervert, Rick peels back the sheets and reaches for the hem of the boy’s too-big pyjama-shirt, lifting it carefully to expose the wound. The skin surrounding it is red, tender, and it weeps heavy amounts of blood. Rick scowls in loathing. How could Beth not notice? How could his master let it get this bad?

How could _he?_

Handling him carefully, like a fragile infant, Rick gathers the frail boy into his arms and gently carries him downstairs, bringing him into the garage and then down into the exam room within the subterranean lab.

Suddenly Ricks arms and legs seize in a relentless hold and he almost chokes on the sudden constriction around his throat.

“ _Please!_ ” Rick cries out, his voice nothing more than an agonized wheeze. “ _Pl-_ _pl_ _ease let me t_ _-tr_ _eat him!_ ”

Rick shakes his own head, _no._ And Rick stumbles, fighting his way over to his whiteboard. Trembling fingers grope for a marker.

“The wound is in- _infected,_ ” every word is an agonized wheeze. “We n- _need him._ ”

The hold on Rick’s body eases and his arm lifts to write, the handwriting jagged and crude but nonetheless legible:

  
  


_**What for** _

  
  


“Ex... _periments!_ ” Rick gasps.

  
  


_**As tho you would comply** _

  
  


“I’ll—I’ll do wh-what you w- _want_ _!_ Just… _please let me save him!_ ”

  
  


_**You alreddy do what I want** _

  
  


There’s a pause, suggesting that the puppeteer is thinking, and Rick welcomes the brief intermission. Then Rick’s hand raises to the whiteboard once more.

  
  


_**You may treet it** _

  
  


Rick starts in surprise. The entity is going to allow it? But before he can question it or thank it, the puppeteer writes:

  
  


_ **NO TALKING!!!** _

  
  


Rick nods stiffly. Agreeing to the deal. And in a moment that feels like the first breath of cool air after being stuffed somewhere hot and cramped, the restrictions on Rick’s muscles retreat entirely leaving Rick gasping in relief. He can move. He can _feel_. He spins around to quickly observe the boy sprawled out on the examination table.

He looks so small…

Rick reaches out and carefully moves his fingers through Morty’s sweat-slicked curls. He then moves to Morty’s gaunt cheek, taking a moment to gently wipe away a smudge beneath the boy’s eye only to grit his teeth in anger when nothing comes away. Old yellowed bruises have mingled with newer, bluer ones creating a morbid tapestry of pain. Rick suspects the only reason Morty hasn’t already awoken is simply due to exhaustion.

Rick unbuttons the boy’s shirt and sets to work disinfecting the wound, inspecting the reddened inflamed skin that surrounds it.

Rick sighs, noting the early signs of infection.

“He needs medicine,” Rick says in a clear voice before his body gives an involuntary shudder—puppet strings being yanked tight in non-verbal warning.

“I’m gonna have to tell him or he’s gonna—gonna fight us on it,” Rick explains. “If he injures himself further, we’ll need to replace him and that’s going to take effort and time that neither of us have.”

The coils lock him in place for a moment—as though reminding him: _‘I’m still watching’—_ before relaxing.

Rick breathes a sigh of gratitude. “Thank you.”

With one hand gripping Morty’s shoulder, Rick firmly grinds his knuckle into the upper part of Morty’s chest. The pain works. It doesn’t take long for Shy Morty to wake. He blinks up at Rick with those large fearful eyes and it’s all Rick can do to resist wrapping him in a protective hug. The kid doesn’t speak. He lies back, docile and obedient as ever, but Rick can still see how rigid he is. The way his lips are pressed into a thin line, the way his eyes stay fixed on Rick’s movements, the visibly strained lines of his neck muscles... The kid’s wound tighter than a bowstring.

_Oh Morty…_

It hurts. It hurts so much.

Rick opens his mouth, ready to tell him that everything is alright, that he won’t be hurt tonight. But he closes it immediately.

What would the puppeteer do to him if he broke the rules?

Worse still: what would he make him do to Morty?

Instead, Rick reaches out to cup Morty’s cheek. The boy knows better than to flinch but Rick can see the instinctual urge to recoil plain as day on Morty’s white face.

“R-Rick?” Morty’s voice is so quiet. So _scared._

“Shh…” Rick soothes. “That bite on your—the wound on your side is infected, kid.” Rick explains. “S-so I’m just gonna treat it and then you’re gonna—I’m gonna give you a shot of something alright?”

Morty doesn’t protest. Doesn’t ask questions or put up a fuss. His face is nervous, resigned and so so sad—as though he has accepted this treatment as his inevitable fate—and it’s all Rick can do not to grab him, hold him, and weep apologies until his voice runs hoarse. Or, better still, kiss away his pain, assure him he is still loved, and tell him just how proud he is that Morty has stayed so strong for so long.

_You deserve so much better than this._

Morty’s eyes are fixed on Rick the entire time he treats him, the air prickling with his wariness. He allows Rick to wash him and remove the dead skin. He barely flinches when Rick begins to stitch him but Rick still stops when he feels the kid tense, noting the way his eyes close and he purses his lips in a wince.

“Babe—” Rick begins but quickly decides against the affectionate pet-name. “ _Morty_ ,” Rick asks, “d-do you want something for the pain?”

Morty looks away quickly and Rick isn’t sure why that hurts so much. It’s as though the boy can’t believe, can’t even _imagine,_ that Rick could still care about him.

“Hey…” Rick murmurs, reaching out to hold Morty’s hand and give it a compassionate squeeze but Morty yanks his hand away as though Rick’s touch is something disgusting. Rick pulls back respectfully and tries to ignore the empty feeling in his chest.

He gets back to work stitching the wound, efficiently applying gauze and then a dressing. It’s clinical, emotionless. When finished, he turns away and pulls out the relevant syringes from the supply cupboard: something for the bacterial infection, something to boost the boy’s immune system, and finally something for the pain.

Rick easily administers the first two injections but when he brings out the final one, his hands tremble—muscles artificially tightening—and he almost drops it.

Rick looks down at the needle in his shaking hand and suddenly realizes he can’t move.

 _No!_ Rick silently begs. _No! Please don’t make him suffer for this!_

Rick’s whole body shudders as he fights against the constricting coils that have wrapped ruthlessly around each muscle: a brutal war within his own body.

A small hand reaches out and gently steadies Rick’s wrist. Rick stares at it, watching dumbfounded as Morty gently caresses his pulse with his thumb.

He can’t believe it. Even after _everything,_ the boy is still offering Rick comfort. Rick’s heart melts with both hope and sorrow. A warm hand cups Rick’s cheek and he looks up to find Morty’s has sat up on the table his legs hanging down over the side. He stares up into those perfect hazel eyes: huge, pain-filled, and still so _impossibly_ kind.

“Morty…” Rick chokes—his true voice finally breaking through. “Help m—”

But Rick’s throat closes immediately. Tendons tighten, muscles constrict, and his jaw locks painfully. He grits his teeth, feels his features harden into something sinister, and his soul shatters when he sees the look of betrayal on Morty’s face.

Rick shoves the final painkilling syringe back in its case and seizes Morty roughly by the hair.

“Get back to bed,” Rick hisses and shoves Morty towards the door. “I’ll deal with you another day.”

Morty stumbles and makes his way out of the room without looking back.

As soon as he’s gone, Rick sets about sterilizing the exam room. Methodical. Automatic. Even if he were not enslaved, the task would not have been any other way.

No one sees the tears streaming down his cheeks.

* * *

Shy Morty is fading away before Rick's eyes. His once shiny dark hair has lost its lustre, becoming thin and mousy. His hazel gaze has dulled to mud brown and exhaustion rims his eyes. His taller-than-average stature, which was once a subtly handsome asset, has not loaned itself well to the pain of puberty: now giving him a gangly stretched-out appearance.

But in Rick's eyes, the boy will always be beautiful.

Rick doesn't need to medically examine him to recognize the signs. Morty's not going to survive much more abuse.

Their next adventure may be his last.

_...don't make me..._

_...he can't handle much more..._

Morty isn't moving this time. For a time, he would cry when Rick had sex with him. Silent tears that he failed to hide in the fabric of his pillowcase. Now he just lies still as a corpse, staring blankly ahead, no doubt counting the minutes until Rick is done with him. 

_...he's everything to me..._

_...he's going to die..._

When Rick comes inside of him, Morty gives a small flinch in discomfort. Rick closes his eyes and waits. His puppeteer is benevolent sometimes: rewarding Rick's compliance by allowing him to hold the kid and offer him comfort. Rick is even allowed to kiss him, though the grimace he received in response meant he only attempted it once. One evening he even let Rick make Morty a hot drink and left them to relax in front of Interdimensional Cable. Rick, of course, was forbidden from speaking and Morty, as usual, did not say a word. But they sat in silence and until it was time to send Morty to bed, Rick could pretend things were the way they were before. 

_...I love you, kid._

Rick assumes that these moments are meant as a form of psychological torture, but he still has no clue what they puppeteer's goal is supposed to be. He looks down at Morty and silently begs for forgiveness he could never deserve. The tendons around his muscles tense and then relax as if to say _'you can have your moment but I'm still here,'_ he sighs with relief as the tendons retract.

Rick pets Shy Morty's hair. 

_...I'm so sorry..._

_...I love you so much..._

_...you deserve so much better than this...._

Shy Morty gives a whimper and Rick lies down on his side, holding him close. The electrical currents have long stopped passing through the boy's body yet he still shakes with violent tremors, his teeth grit together.

He endured for nearly three hours tonight before he finally passed out. When he came to, Rick raped him. Not once but twice. 

_...you're so much stronger than you realize..._

Rick traces a hand up and down the kid's protruding spine, cringing at how thin he has become. 

_...it's all my fault._

They lie there together on the cold metal table. Morty's breathing is slowing and Rick wonders if exhaustion is finally taking over him. It's a good thing, really. The boy doesn't exactly get a lot of sleep...

The trapdoor to the basement lab suddenly swings open and they are both blinded by the light from inside the house. Morty's eyes fly open and he instantly recoils in a desperate attempt to hide his nakedness. Rick, however, nimbly climbs on top of him, pinning Morty into a more exposed position.

"Dad...?"

The tendons seize excitedly as Beth takes in the compromised sight of them. Morty with electrodes still stuck to his naked body and Rick coiled around him like a hungry snake. 

And Morty, in a sudden rush, fights to preserve himself.

"MOM!" he yells. His eyes wide with desperation. "MOM! PLEASE!"

"Dad." Beth's voice is slow, calculating, "what are you two doing down here?"

"Just a—just an experiment, sweetie," Rick answers smoothly. "Nothing Morty didn't ask for."

Beth doesn't look at her son. He gaze remains fixed on Rick and Rick alone. Rick returns the stare, ignoring the way Morty thrashes beneath him. 

As though moving in slow-motion, Beth backs away from the trapdoor and Rick's heart sinks when he hears it close. Beth's footsteps fade quickly and are followed by the sound of her car starting.

Morty has gone quiet and Rick turns to look at him.

The sight makes him want to be sick.

His eyes are devoid of emotion. _Broken_ doesn't even begin to describe it. It is as though, with the closing of that trapdoor, Morty's soul has been closed away with it. Any light that was still left in the kid's eyes has finally been snuffed out. 

The tendons worm their way into Rick's throat and he opens his mouth to speak.

"We're done for the day," he says icily. "Go to bed."

* * *

Rick’s not sure what to think of this place.

Once, this suite might have been luxurious. Lavishly decorated with expensive furniture and what Rick immediately recognises as a rare Naori Yeti fur rug.

But now the once beautiful presidential suite has been trashed beyond recognition. Smears of everything line the walls and the last remnants of chips have been ground into the carpet. When he walked in, Rick noticed broken glass littered around the bar, suggesting an argument or purhaps just a very enthusiastic round.

Rick of C-137 had seemingly disappeared again. The man’s _uniquely_ _Rick_ brainwaves were hidden; not only suggesting camouflage but that he somehow managed to disappear entirely.

And yet, amongst this debauchery, here he is.

And cradled lovingly in his arms lies the answer to the riddle—Rick’s tendons seem to quiver with his master’s excitement—C-137's exceptionally powerful Morty.

The kid’s looking more than a little green around the gills. His hair lies limp and dull and he’s far too thin. Bruises decorate the poor child’s neck and chest, suggesting multiple beatings.

Rick watches them as they sleep. Equal parts fascinated and disturbed by the way The Rogue clutches him. The boy looks exhausted and the Rick looks restless even in his sleep. A smile twitches on Rick’s face as something warm, fond, and sad flutters in his chest.

He used to hold Shy Morty like that.

Though, glancing once more at his surroundings, Rick doesn’t believe he would ever bring Morty to a place such as this and he certainly would not have handled him so roughly. He notes the stains, sees where the fitted sheet has torn. Even more telling, the tail end of a leather strap tucked beneath the hotel mattress.

Rick’s lip curls.

Yeah, C-137 is The Rogue alright. A sadistic streak a mile long and a thirst that will never be satiated.

How many Morties has this asshole been through?

“So I see _you’ve_ finally come around,” the puppeteer speaks with Rick’s voice and Rick is disgusted at the slow drawl that could never belong to him.

Rick C-137 wakes with a start and then pales when he sees Rick staring at him. Immediately, possibly subconsciously, Rick’s arms constrict more tightly around his Morty, hugging him close and protective against himself.

“Look this… this isn’t what it looks like!” C-137 protests.

 _Pfft! Really asshole?_ Rick’s puppeteer lets him scoff authentically. _You’ve got a trashed hotel suite and a twink in your bed and you’re going to start with denial?_

“Oh? And what does it look like then?” Rick grins.

“What the fuck do you want?” C-137 snaps.

“Well,” Rick shrugs and perches on the edge of the bed. “I got curious, I suppose. You w-went and disappeared again.”

“Yeah, and?”

“I just wondered h-how you managed it, what changed, my colleague has given up on the mystery but I’m… still curious…”

“Well, have fun with that,” C-137 practically snarls, “I still have… have n-no idea what’s doing it.”

“I-Is that so?”

Even though Rick knows his features are sharp and predatory, Rick looks at The Rogue's Morty sleeping peacefully in Rick’s arms and feels his heart constrict with both concern and envy. C-137 tightens his arms around his grandson, his mouth a thin line and his eyes narrowed and calculating. Rick’s reminded of an animal backed into a corner.

“That your Original?” Rick asks mildly.

Deep inside, Rick frowns. _What has that got to do with anything?_ Rick wonders. Why would his puppeteer want to know a detail like that?

“Is yours?”

“Oh no,” Rick’s blood runs cold. “I-I’d never do _that_ to my own flesh and blood.” And Rick feels his own tongue slither out and hungrily drench his lips with saliva.

And suddenly, like being doused in ice water, Rick understands.

The one who placed a black bag over his head. The one who continues to torment him, control him, and force him to do the unspeakable… it is his own original sociopath of a grandson.

And the motivation? The goal? Whatever the ultimate goal might be, Rick is not only unfortunate enough to be one of his pawns, but on top of that his grandson is punishing _him_ personally.

Rick’s mouth curls into a cruel smile he does not feel and he watches the way C-137 seems to bristle beneath his gaze, not knowing that the triumph isn’t something Rick is directing or feeling towards him at all.

The little psycho knows Rick knows.

“We all draw a line somewhere.”

“Do we now?” Rick looks at the Morty again. “Your Morty’s looking a little worse for wear, Rick. Is he feeling alright?”

Rick wants to snap. His original grandson isn’t just mocking C-137 with such a weighted statement and that knowledge leaves Rick wanting to fucking _scream!_ He always knew there was something seriously sick and messed up with his grandson, but he never thought he would resort to torturing another Morty.

“Don’t get me wr- _oogghhh-_ ong, I enjoy marking mine up too.”

Rick’s blood boils.

 _He’s you!_ Rick wails inside his head. _He’s got your body, your mind, doesn’t that bother you at all?!_

But then, when Rick really thinks about it, how many Ricks are willing to kill or torture their own? How many Ricks are willing to live out their own self-disgust with a form of cannibalistic suicide?

His Morty is quite possibly the Rickest Morty there is.

“But—I dunno—” Rick continues in a mocking tone. “I guess I didn’t expect the late, great, C-137 to be a _cuddler.”_

“Fuck you! I don’t need to prove anything to the l-likes of you!”

“The likes of _me?_ ” a cruel laugh is forced from Rick’s throat and Rick watches as the sleeping boy stirs. “You’re in _no_ position to kink-shame anyone, Sanchez.”

Rick notices the look on The Rogue’s face has evolved from contemptuous to murderous.

 _Good._ Rick thinks with resignation. _If you’re gonna kill me, then fucking do it._

The Morty makes a sleepy noise and rolls his head over to the side revealing a telling injury to the boy’s face, covering both one side of the kid’s mouth as well as his nose which appears to be broken. Rick feels a sharp pang of sympathy.

Soulless sociopaths are capable of great obsession. And maybe, in their own idiosyncratically brutal way, that is a form of love. But with Rick’s experience he knows they cannot love wisely and they certainly cannot love _gently._ That Morty deserves better.

His own Morty deserves better.

Rick can feel his features hardening in order to resist the onslaught of concern.

“ _Jesus,_ ” Rick finds himself muttering in a surprisingly tender tone. “What the hell did you _do_ to that kid?”

“Get. Out.”

Cornered and goaded, Rick can see by the tension in his counterpart’s face that he is going to be killed if he does not leave soon. And Rick is entirely okay with that knowledge. “Oh I will! I will!” he says unwillingly as he begins backing toward a newly formed portal. “Just—just one last question, Rick.”

C-137’s eyes narrow in a disdainful glare.

“ _Is_ that your original Morty?”

He says nothing but shame bleaches his face clear as day and Rick freezes. He knows that look. He’s seen it in the mirror when his thoughts began to drift to soft multifaceted eyes and a light laugh, seen it in his daughter’s eyes when she has begged Rick to stay, seen it in the sad face of Shy Morty when he has looked into his eyes with a hope that bordered on madness.

 _My god…_ Rick realizes. _You’ve fallen in love with him._

“Oh C-137, that is _sick!_ ”

* * *

Morty is sitting at the dining room table staring dumbly at his empty plate. Rick's reminded of an abandoned marionette: hunched over, limp, and far too still. 

Beth is quiet too. He glances her way and her expression is unreadable. When Rick gets closer he can smell the alcohol on her breath. 

"Hey sweetie!" Rick says jovially. 

Beth looks up and for a split-second Rick sees the despair in her eyes only for her to shake it away and get into character.

"Hi Dad, how was today's adventure? Are you planning to cook this evening?"

"I thought we'd order takeout tonight. I-is Panucci's Pizza okay?" 

"Pizza sounds lovely. Thank you. Oh by the way, I got a call from Summer today—"

Rick can't believe this. Is Beth really going to look the other way while her son—her _baby—_ is in pain? Rick could slap her, regardless of the fact she is his daughter, he is so furious.

Rick continues the casual conversation. Not really concentrating on anything Beth says. He manages to sneak a look at Morty and sees that he is still puddled in his seat. Barely a shell of a human being. 

Eventually Rick departs in order to place a phone call to Panucci's. When he hangs up he hears Beth speaking in a hushed tone.

"Tell me... t-tell me how this started. Tell me what happened."

Rick doesn't hear a response. Could Morty be speaking so softly that he is unable to hear from the kitchen? Rick strains in order to hear.

"Morty, I know _you_ started this. Rick wouldn't— h-he'd _never..._ "

Still nothing.

"Morty, _say something!_ "

When Rick returns, Morty is unchanged. Still catatonic, still silent. Rick's ribcage feels cold and hollow. 

Rick and Morty are both surprised when Rick casually places a hand on Morty's shoulder. Morty flinches wildly and Rick smirks. 

"Everything okay?" Rick asks in a playful tone. "Morty, will you join me in the garage later tonight? I need your help again."

Morty swallows and nods.

Rick's heart shatters into a million pieces while he simultaneously bares his teeth in a triumphant smile.

* * *

Rick can remember clear-as-day, the first time he and the kid had sex. The kid was so adorably virginal and although Rick kept up a fairly believable facade, he was pretty nervous himself.

Morty was only fifteen and being a chaste little thing, barely knew how to touch himself.

_"Aw jeez, you mean, like, w-w-with a dildo or—or—or s-something?" Morty had stammered. A delightful blush colouring his cheeks._

_"Yeah, y'know, a toy... something like that?"_ Rick asked. _"You've never, uh, put—put anything, um, inside yourself?"_

Morty shook his head. Then his nervous smile faded. _"Is that a problem?"_

 _"What? No. Well... y_ _ou'll be a bit tight. It might make this experience a little uncomfortable."_

Rick didn't think he would ever miss Morty crying. Now, Morty is as silent as the grave. He doesn't struggle, doesn't move, doesn't even seem to notice when Rick parts his legs and shoves himself inside.

_"Oh! Oh! Aw jeez..."_

_"You alright?"_ Rick had checked. 

Morty was biting his knuckle, his face scarlet. _"Yeah I'm just... y'know?"_

_"The key to good anal is relaxation, you gotta relax Morty. Just let me make you feel good."_

Rick's lips resumed their place around Morty's cock. When he felt Morty's leg muscles relax, he inserted another finger. Morty gasped and looked away quickly. 

_Scream! Cry! C'mon Morty! Do something!_

But Morty remains silent. He hasn't spoken since the night Beth walked in on them. No matter what Rick does to the kid, Morty remains entirely mute.

_Just do something! Anything! Please show me I haven't broken you!_

_"Will it hurt a lot?"_

_"Depends."_ Rick gave Morty's thigh a reassuring squeeze. _"Expect some discomfort. If it starts to hurt, just let me know and I'll stop."_

Morty doesn't even look uncomfortable anymore, though Rick knows this must be agony.

_"Ow ow ow!"_

_"Jesus are you alright?"_

_"Yes. Just... keep going. I can do this."_

Rick shifted his position slightly before pressing inside a little further, carefully monitoring Morty's face for signs of pain. He had almost lost himself for a moment, Morty just felt so goddamn good...

_"Ooh... aw jeez."_

_"You okay? Does it hurt?"_

_"A little but I like it."_

_I'm sorry._

Rick hears a crack. One of Morty's bones has broken. He looks down at the small sacrificial body beneath him and knows that in apologizing for everything, he is apologizing for nothing.

_I'm so sorry._

_"R-Rick? Could you maybe... um..."_

_"Yes?"_

_"Could you please do it harder?"_

_"Oh fucking hell, kid!"_

When it's finally over, Rick gets up, leaving Morty lying limp and cold in the basement without so much as a hug to keep him warm. 

_"Thank you, Rick."_

_"For what, kid?"_

_"For not... f-forcing me to—"_

_"Hey... hey, no, no I wouldn't do that."_

_"I know. But still... thank you. I love you, Rick."_


End file.
